


Aim & Ignite

by shostakobitch



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: AU, Book 1: Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone, Canon Compliant, Canon Universe, F/M, Gen, Genderswap, Lily Evans Potter & Severus Snape Friendship, Minor Lily Evans Potter/Severus Snape, POV Severus Snape, Pre-Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone, Severitus | Severus Snape is Harry Potter's Parent, Severus Snape-centric, Snily, and tell me it wouldn't be a hot mess express, basically a girl!harry AU where snape is also the dad, girl!Harry, so here we go, so snape is still a dick, surprisingly no one has really explored THAT possibility, this is going to be as canon as possible
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-22
Updated: 2021-02-20
Packaged: 2021-03-01 23:14:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 15
Words: 105,439
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23795218
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shostakobitch/pseuds/shostakobitch
Summary: "I know about Lily." said the girl. "That you loved her."Severus froze mid-footfall. He felt as though he’d had the wind knocked out of him."She's my mum." her chin lifted, her eyes clear. "She wrote me that letter to tell me about you. You're the only person she really mentioned, but I guess that makes sense, since you're my father. Who else was she supposed to talk about?"
Relationships: Lily Evans Potter/Severus Snape
Comments: 293
Kudos: 462





	1. girl

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, Reader! 
> 
> A long time ago, I wrote a series called Red Sorrow (and then Gentle is the Power). 
> 
> A week ago, I started writing again. 
> 
> I don't know where this is going. I just know that I've changed a lot, both as a person, and in my writing. I wanted to tell this story, and do it the right way.
> 
> I hope you're all safe and are keeping your loved ones close during these crazy and uncertain times. 
> 
> xx

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> — PLEASE READ BEFORE MOVING FORWARD —
> 
> List of Warnings & Content: Crude and adult language, along with adult themes (Snape swears in a lot of his inner dialogue, and some with Dumbledore. It's not rampant, but I do drop the f-bomb quite a few times) Graphic depictions of violence and torture and all the fun that Voldemort/Tom Riddle/Death Eaters come with. Major character deaths and secondary character deaths, as this is a magical war, and people are bound to die. 
> 
> In canon, Snape's only redeeming quality is his unrequited love for Lily. Harry has a boundless ability to do so. There's very little written in the girl!Harry realm, as well as Snape having a daughter. I've decided to combine the two in order to explore Snape having not only to protect a child that he does not consider to be primarily James', but also his own daughter. The Severitus challenge has always been one of my favorite subgenres in fanfiction -- thrusting a character in the role of parent when he's already shit at emotions is interesting to me. If you don't like Snape, then this story probably isn't for you. He's extremely problematic, and will continue to be problematic at times. 
> 
> This story is not fluff, and I'm attempting to keep everyone in character. There will be some canon divergence, but Snape is a dick in canon, so he will continue to be a dick here. I will, however, be exploring a relationship between him and a daughter shared with Lily, which means that there will be character arcs and growth. 
> 
> Anything you recognize from canon is property of JK Rowling. 
> 
> If you could take a moment to review whenever you can, it would be greatly appreciated :)

**Aim & Ignite**

* * *

**Part I: The Philosopher's Stone**

_“Until we have seen someone’s darkness, we don’t really know who they are. Until we have forgiven someone’s darkness, we don’t really know what love is.”_

_— Marianne Williamson_

* * *

The face in the mirroring was frowning.

The Girl scowled back, wiggling her eyebrows to add some vibrato. It wasn't anything to be proud of, but it was rather fearsome, if she said so herself. The freckles over the bridge of her nose took away from it though. She liked that particular part about her face. Her mum had freckles in the same exact spot, and her mum had been beautiful. The scowl, however, should definitely work when intimidating the postman.

She hated the quiet of night. There was something about it that rubbed her the wrong way. The Girl didn’t know what it was — perhaps it was that she was never really _tired,_ or because she disliked the dark. When she’d been younger, the dark had comforted her, because that meant the Dursleys had gone to bed. The dark had gotten worse though, the older she’d gotten. The dark wasn’t comforting at all when you had to walk home from the grocery store by yourself because Aunt Petunia had left you there.

It was cold, the kind that focused on your hands and feet. The rain made a _patpatpat_ sound against the windowpane, and The Girl was pretty sure that it was going to turn to hail soon. It was _that_ sort of summer rain, it settled into the house and then turned into a monsoon within seconds. Lightning cracked across the sky, making her flinch. She had bad dreams sometimes about flashing lights, except in her dreams, they were green. That was one thing (maybe the only thing) she missed about the cupboard — she couldn’t see the lightning from in there.

As The Girl padded the length of the floorboards of Dudley’s second bedroom — now _her_ bedroom— to the door, her eyes briefly flitted to the stairs. She could’ve sworn she heard something, but the letters never came at night, and Uncle Vernon had been snoring loudly for quite some time now. She was going to try for one tomorrow — or was it today already? — but no, she was _going_ to do better than _try_. She was _going_ to get one of those letters, and she was going to find out who was trying to write to her so badly.

Once back inside her bedroom, she reached for the lock on the window, peeking over her shoulder at the door for any signs that she’d alerted her aunt and uncle that she was still awake. It was hard to tell what would set them off sometimes. Usually, the Dursleys were too stupid to figure out the little rules she broke here and there, but she would be lying if she said they didn’t take her by surprise sometimes. The window shouldn’t be a problem. She knew she could fit through and drop down without making much noise. One time, when she’d been younger, she’d stuck her head out while cleaning, and Dudley had catapulted her right out. She’d had a nasty bruise for days and a sprained ankle that had only been taken care of because the school nurse had called Aunt Petunia, but she was older now, and a whole lot sneakier.

The soft glow that came with nighttime filtered in through the glass as she slowly unhooked the lock, tensing up and readying herself to dive back into bed should she hear footsteps coming down the hall. Thankfully, nothing happened, and she grinned. A soft breeze filtered in, droplets of rain hitting her skin. It felt good — she liked rain (without the lightning) a great deal more than she liked night. There was something soothing about it she couldn’t put her finger on. Hopefully the rain would drown out the sound of her escape.

She wondered if her mum had liked summer. She wondered what mum would have said to her… if she’d be able to reassure her that being nervous was ridiculous. She wondered if the sun brought out the freckles on mum’s face like they did on her own.

The picture she’d swiped from the attic smiled up at her. Petunia had screamed and screamed when she’d showed it to her. She’d tried to rip it up —

_the girl was too fast, Vernon, get that horrid picture and burn it I don’t want to SEE HER AGAIN_

“I’m gonna get one of those letters.” she whispered to no one. “You wait and see.”

The Girl sucked in a deep breath, and launched herself out the window.

* * *

It began with Severus’ least favorite thing — children.

While saying such things out loud would probably have created an uproar amongst the staff, he spent each waking moment hating them. The Sorting was, admittedly, the most tolerable of the nights, but it only reminded Severus that very soon, he’d have a brand new batch of dunderheads to keep from killing one another, and themselves. Dumbledore belittled him every summer, just before the start of term, to update his syllabus, to find _something_ worth teaching in the little cretins, but Severus couldn’t understand why he bothered. He hated them all, each and every one. There were far too many of them, in his opinion, to which Dumbledore would reply that enrollment had actually dwindled throughout the years due to the war. _That_ little fun fact was enough to shut the both of them up.

They both knew why he was really here, and it wasn’t to teach children. Those little monsters turned the castle into a demon-sent-hellspawn wasteland — Hogwarts was so different when it wasn’t spilling over with those… _things_. Severus could almost enjoy the long days of summer, the way the wind moved through the grass and the only voices were its whispers in the empty halls.

The rest of the staff had busied themselves away with things that seemed silly and inconsequential to Severus. Minerva had been flustered by the letters back and forth from parents, Sprout was rearranging the layout of the greenhouse, and Flitwick had been transfiguring his desk back and forth between designs for several hours now. Severus only knew of these activities because of Dumbledore — he’d found him in the dungeons this morning, using his genuine interest in their activities to segway into another, more repulsive, subject. Severus was getting ahead of himself, though, term had not even started yet. It was far too early for character assassinations.

Severus watched the last rays of summer filter in through the castle windows, wishing he could fade away alongside them. Beside him, Dumbledore watched the sunset with an annoyingly pensive look on his face. “Have you given any thought to what we were discussing this morning?”

Severus barely turned his head to acknowledge him. “No.”

Despite his cold reply, Dumbledore chuckled. “Humor an old man, my boy.”

He was, of course, referring to something Severus did not want to talk about, and if Severus did not want to, he would, under any circumstances, not. Dumbledore had found him here for this precise reason. To his relief, Dumbeldore gave a great sigh, his mustache twitching in a knowing smile. There came a familiar crackling sound soon after. As Severus glanced sideways at the old man, he found him unwrapping one of those Muggle sweets — a lemon-drop.

Dumbledore caught him staring and stopped just as he was about to pop one into his mouth. “I’m sorry, my boy, did you…?”

“No,” Severus said, looking back toward the sunset, which had hidden itself behind the treeline.

Dumbledore twinkled at him. “You did enjoy the toffee flavored ones, I believe.”

He gave a sound that was passable enough for agreement. While Dumbledore waited patiently beside him, Severus forced himself to continue ignoring him, hoping he would simply drop the subject and leave him to sulk by himself. Dumbledore, however, was an annoying and meddlesome old man, and no matter how many times Severus pointed out this fact, it never deterred him.

“You must stop worrying about the world ending today.” said Dumbledore. “It’s already tomorrow in Australia.”

Severus stifled the urge to roll his eyes. “How unfortunate.”

_You’re sulking,_ Conscience told him, _is rather pathetic._

“My boy,” Dumbledore gave him an understanding look. “I know where your trepidation comes from, but I would be remiss if I did not inquire as to the state of your mind these past few days. I can only imagine…”

He trailed off, following Severus’ gaze to the sunset, which was completely enveloped by the trees, now. The sky was a brilliant red, the clouds purple tufts of smoke decorating the tree-landen horizon. Off in the distance, he could hear whatever creatures Hagrid had brought in for the night calling to one another, or perhaps Hagrid for a feeding. They sounded like hippogriffs, but they were distant, and the sound distorted.

“I’ve decided to send Hagrid.” Dumbledore said, motioning to the smoke that drifted across their field of vision, most likely coming from Hagrid’s hut. “He insisted, seeing as he brought her to Lily’s sister. We haven’t received notice from her yet, but there’s still time. Hagrid suggested he go on her birthday. What do you think, my boy?”

Severus tensed. He would not answer. Would not would not _would NOT —_

“I wonder,” said Dumbledore, when Severus did not respond yet again. “if Tom realizes.”

Severus felt like a bucket of ice water had been dumped over his head. He hadn’t mentioned the Dark Lord directly this morning — he’d danced around it with pleasantries and such — but this was the first time in years he’d said his name. It still unnerved him that Dumbledore used the Dark Lord’s birth name, as if the being with the red eyes and cruel, high voice could be reduced to such a common, Muggle name. The Dark Lord was something you could not comprehend a beginning to, like a human creator. Wizards and Muggles alike could fathom something living forever, but not something having always existed. It was an unreachable place in the mind.

“It feels as though it is another start to term.” Severus finally said, making sure his voice was devoid of any emotion. “New students joining the general population is inconsequential to my current state of mind. I’m sure the Dark Lord feels the same, if he’s truly still out there.”

He wouldn’t bring up the girl — he _would not._ He rarely thought of her, rarely remembered that her arrival at Hogwarts drew closer at the end of every school term. Severus could not acknowledge both the continued existence (whatever quality it may be, at this point, anyways) of the Dark Lord _and_ Lily’s daughter. The Dark Lord was petrifying enough, but to admit Lily and _Potter’s_ child was someone _real_ , his greatest fear come to pass…

Severus didn’t know what scared him more, the Dark Lord, or that _girl._

Dumbledore was quiet for another long moment. “Well, I applaud you for treating the situation as such. I’m sure she will have enough people paying her unwanted attention… having someone treat her no differently than the others is reassuring. I know Minerva is anxious to have the girl join us… but she admits openly that Lily was one of her favorite pupils. It’s different, I suppose.”

The old man stared at him intently over half-moon spectacles, trying to draw out some sort of reaction. Severus had forbidden it, and Dumbledore had respected that, but as the days drew nearer to Lily’s daughter beginning her education at Hogwarts, the memory of That Night had begun to crack itself open amongst the staff. They whispered about it excitedly amongst themselves, with looks of both somber remembrance and bright anticipation. Severus, however, had taken the memory of Godric’s Hollow and the Dark Lord’s last spell and locked it in an untouchable, unbreakable box. At it’s mention, though, the memory began to thump against its box and rattle the chains that had kept it buried all this time.

He was thankful, however, that Dumbledore had not said her name. It provoked the same reaction the Dark Lord’s did — if he did not acknowledge both until he had to, he could do this, for Lily.

“The girl is of no matter to me.” said Severus, not liking that he was being forced to admit her existence out loud. “You know I will do what I need to, if it is required. I sense that is what you’re after, really.”

“She’ll need that protection, Severus.” Dumbledore faced him fully now, his face full of something like expectation, but also a graveness that Severus hadn’t seen in several years. “Tom will return, and when he does, she will need us all. There is no easy way to say that. Her tenure here is not something to be gawked at… it’s to be a marker. I fear for her going forward, I do, but I have faith that she will be safe here…” Dumbledore trailed off, returning his gaze to the sunset. It wasn’t like him to speak of such things, and this unnerved Severus.

“Has something happened?” he asked sharply.

Dumbledore blinked at him in surprise. “No, no, my dear boy. I apologize, I was simply —”

He froze, suddenly, like he’d had a nasty shock. Severus turned towards him finally, fully, letting down his wary guard. As intentionally mysterious as the old man could be, this was not usual behavior for Dumbledore, even when he was trying to get his way. No, he used matters of the heart for that.

“The Blood Wards.” Dumbledore said. “They’ve fallen.”

It took Severus a moment to grasp what he was saying, but even if he hadn’t, the look on Dumbledore’s face would have been jarring enough. He would never forget that look — he’d never seen the Headmaster look alarmed, let alone afraid, but it was gone as quickly as it had appeared.

“What do you —” before Severus could even finish, Dumbledore was offering him his arm.

“We must move, quickly.” he said, in a voice like lightning. There was no arguing with it, or refusing it. The aftermath, the thunder, was inevitable.

Severus took his arm.

* * *

The postman had _not_ been the one delivering the letters, she’d found out. The Girl knew this because she’d hidden behind the hedges all morning, waiting, and when he did come waltzing down the road, the only thing he’d dropped off was the newspaper. Now her leg had a cramp, and she was covered in dirt and smelt like mulch. The backpack she’d been carrying was serving as a pillow, for now, since he hadn’t dared move all day.

Uncle Vernon had shouted for what sounded like an eternity once the sun had risen

_these BLOODY LETTERS I’ll see them FIRED I’ll see them PENNILESS with these RUDDY UNWANTED LETTERS_

and then, he’d REALLY started when Dudley had shouted from upstairs that she was gone, that the window was open, and then Petunia was shrieking

_VERNON, Vernon the MOLDING around the window has been RUINED, that LITTLE —_

They’d all gone very, _very_ quiet after that. She didn’t even hear the telly for Dudley’s morning program turn on. She’d wondered, from behind her bush, if they were calling the police, or maybe they were deciding what to do amongst themselves. She’d briefly considered running in and grabbing one of the letters from the front door (it sounded like there were dozens of them again, based on how loud Uncle Vernon had been yelling) but she couldn’t hear where they were in the house. She wasn’t sure what she was going to do… she just needed one of those _LETTERS._

There had been so many of them, and she felt like a numpty for not managing to grab at least one this past week. Uncle Vernon was mean and stupid, yes, but he was also about twenty times bigger than her. She could remember the first time she’d tried diving for one, and how his arm had swung and she’d gone flying back. He hadn’t even realized he’d done it, he was just so _desperate_ to keep her from finding out who was writing. The Girl would never forgive Dudley for that first one, for shouting it out when her aunt and uncle had happily ignored her every morning before that, and ruining the only _real_ chance she’d had then. It had felt like a dream you could remember feeling, but not what it was about. There was something _special_ in that envelope, The Girl knew it.

And so here she’d sat, all day, behind the hedges beside the front door. Every now and again, she’d hear shuffling from inside the house, but no more yelling, or screaming, or threats. No one even came outside. At some point, she heard someone close the window to Dudley’s second bedroom, but that was it. She didn’t dare come out, she might’ve truly gone and driven them completely mental, and even then, once she got one of those letters, she wasn’t going back.

Around dinnertime, she could say she had not one, but _two_ bee stings from hiding and a _very_ empty stomach, but zero letters. She rubbed at her arm, trying to make the swelling go down, and was quite thankful she wasn’t allergic to bees. That was all she needed, to have an allergic reaction and die right there — and the Dursleys would probably get off scot-free too. They would have loved that.

She nearly leaped out of her skin when she _finally_ heard the front door open. Dudley came barrelling out, dressed to the nines in a suit that was _far_ too small for him. She remembered when Aunt Petunia bought him that, only a few months ago, and it had been pretty tight even then. _Now_ it made Dudley look like an oversized beach ball. She was reminded of the day they’d tried to fit one of those in the trunk of the car, and it had looked like it was going to explode any minute.

Aunt Petunia was right behind him, fussing over his hair, which lay flat against his head. She was wearing heels that made a _clackclackclack_ sound against the pavement, reminding The Girl of the rain from last night, pounding against her window. Aunt Petunia was wearing a fancy dress — white, just like the rest of the house.

“Diddykins, slow down!” she pleaded. “I need to finish combing the front —”

“MUUUM, I’m _hungry._ Let's _go!”_ Dudley whined, slamming the car door behind him as he climbed in eagerly. He crossed his arms in a mocking pout that wasn’t real for one second, but conveyed his impatience to Aunt Petunia, who began apologizing profusely for making him wait.

A chuckle came from the front door — Uncle Vernon, who sounded… happy? _That_ couldn’t be right, he’d been ranting and raving about the letters for a week now. He’d developed that weird twitch and was constantly looking out the windows, over his shoulder, as if whoever was sending them would appear out of thin air and attack.

“A fine night for a celebration, don’t you think Petunia dear?” Uncle Vernon smiled up at the sky, almost as if he was admiring the sunset.

The Girl had been admiring the sunset too, up until that point. Now, the purple and red in the sky reminded her of Uncle Vernon’s face when he was mad, which was quite an awful lot. He looked like a deranged, mutant pig when he was angry, especially when he got in her face. Now, he seemed… calmer than he had in months. He was wearing a tuxedo too, like Dudley, the kind he wore to those fancy company dinners at Smeltings.

“We can finally take that vacation to Monet’s garden in Giverny…” Uncle Vernon said to Aunt Petunia, who was climbing into the passenger seat.

“Oh Vernon, that sounds wonderful.” Petunia said, shooting a concerned look to Dudley, who had begun pounding on the car window. “We can discuss it more over dinner, we’re already late because of —”

They both looked at Dudley, whose face was now smashed up against the glass.

Aunt Petunia slammed the car door shut as Dudley began wailing again. Uncle Vernon gave another hearty laugh, like he’d heard an old joke, his keys clinking together as he locked the front door.

The Girl’s eyes widened in horror — no no NO — how was she to get inside _now?_

Uncle Vernon stepped past the car and into the street, looking down the road as if he were waiting for a cab. After a long moment, with a satisfied smile, he made his way toward the car.

“Good riddance,” he said to no one.

The Girl could feel her heartbeat in her throat as they drove away. It was then that she realized — really and _truly_ realized — that she wasn’t going back to the Dursleys after this. They wouldn’t have her back anyway — she’d done it now. They’d _constantly_ told her (pleaded, really) that if she ran away, she’d never be allowed back again, and that was _without_ leaving her stranded places. Even if she hadn’t left on her own, ruining that window with water damage from the rain last night was enough to do her in.

That was okay, though, because The Girl hated the Dursleys, and they hated her.

She wiped at her face with her sleeve, sniffling softly to herself. Crying over the Dursleys wasn’t part of the plan, but then again, was she really crying over them? Something told her she wasn’t. The Girl was nothing remarkable, after all. The only remotely interesting thing about her was her lightning-shaped scar on her forehead.

The Girl threw her backpack out of the hedges, wincing as she straightened her legs for the first time all day. She rolled out from behind them, fighting back a sob building in her throat. She had nothing to go on now, nothing that would tell her who’d been wanting to talk to her so badly. They’d definitely destroyed this morning's batch of letters. They were the last remnants of her, proof she’d ever been there. They’d scrub that place clean until her existence was erased forever.

The Girl scrubbed at her eyes. Maybe the letters would keep coming? Should she stay behind the hedges? She wanted to scream, to hit something, or someone. How could her plan have gone so far south? _How_ had the letters gotten inside without the postman? None of this made sense — _none of it —_

The Girl kicked at the front door, and it flew open.

There was no time to figure out how or why (she’d _seen_ Uncle Vernon lock it, hadn’t she?). There was a pang in her chest that felt like triumph, like winning a game of football or outrunning Dudley. The Girl bolted through the door, straight into the front hallway, scouring the floor for letters letter _letters —_

There was a stack of them — maybe twenty or thirty — on the kitchen table. She couldn’t believe her luck! Her heart leapt up into her throat and she launched herself at them, her hands shaking terribly.

She was going to take one and run. She’d find whoever was sending these letters, she’d find them and they’d help her… even then, she’d stolen all of the money out of Dudley’s piggy bank, and he’d had enough in there to buy the entire family groceries for at least three months. He never checked it because Aunt Petunia usually just _bought_ him whatever he demanded, but she could certainly use that… maybe get a ticket to London? But where would she go…

Before she could decide, she heard voices approaching from outside.

* * *

Privet Drive — or so the street sign said — was a waste of pavement and brick and foundation.

It was ticky-tacky, and Muggle, and there was nowhere for Severus to meld into the shadows. It was open and bright and far too organized for his taste. Spinner’s End wasn’t his haven either — he fucking hated living in his parent’s house, but _this_ made him want to start setting homes on fire. He’d sooner become the flying instructor at Hogwarts then set foot in suburban Muggle territory after this.

This was where Lily’s daughter had grown up, he thought with a shudder. There was nothing Severus could do about that now. He’d tried ten years ago, but Dumbledore’s mind had been made up already, and the Blood Wards were (up until this point) impenetrable. He tried to imagine Lily settling down here, and felt his hands begin to shake. He thought of a small version of her running down the street he was standing on, and quickly shoved the thought away from him. What was _wrong_ with — 

He hated Muggle neighborhoods. He hated Petunia all the more for making him _be here._

Severus scanned the rows of lawns and picket fences, trying to incinerate each door with his glare as he followed Dumbledore. He soon found himself face to face with a deep chestnut brown door with a brass knocker that had clearly been over polished.

“There’s no bloody car in the driveway.” said Severus, who was growing more and more agitated by the second. 

“Forgive me, my dear boy, I’m not familiar with Muggle terminology.” Dumbledore did not take his eyes off the door as he unsheathed his wand. Under the circumstances, he was handling this remarkably well. Then again, Dumbledore had never shown panic, not even at the height of the war, when the Light had been losing, and badly.

Severus sighed as Dumbledore stepped onto the stoop. “A car is one of those metal death-traps with wheels that they use to transport themselves on the roads. A driveway is where they keep them in front of their homes.”

“Ah, I see, thank you.” he frowned, staring at the door with laser-beam precision. “Do Muggles often leave their doors open as well?”

He froze, a horrible sense of dread falling over him as he realized the door was slightly ajar. Dumbledore gave him another grim look and quickly let himself inside the house, his robes making a scratching sound as they grazed the doorframe. Severus was close behind him, wand drawn.

Severus took one step into the front hallway and immediately wrinkled his nose, artificial scents of air fresheners and a strong smell of tea filling his nostrils. Everything about this place screamed one word: _Muggle._ Severus had to force himself to blink several times as he took in the parlor.

White. Everything was so _clean,_ so bright in a disturbing kind of way, and _so white_.

Lily would have hated it.

It was exactly the kind of place Severus had expected Petunia to end up in – or at least, it was where her happy ending was written down. If Severus could have dictated her fate, he would have put her right smack dab in the middle of some god-forsaken scrap of land in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by magic-practicing hermits.

It was unsettling. Severus recalled Petunia cleaning Lily’s house when they’d been children, her annoyance if something wasn’t where it should be or a mark on the furniture enough to sour her mood for days. Anything out of place — a speck of dirt on the carpet — would mean that something wasn’t right, and if something wasn’t _right,_ it wasn’t _normal,_ and if she valued anything, it was her normalcy. It was the one thing that Petunia could do right, in her mind. She could be the ordinary one, something her logic stated that her sister wasn’t capable of. Petunia would, in fact, be _so_ conventional that she would land herself at the complete opposite end of the spectrum, even if the one Petunia had established inside her jealousy-riddled brain didn’t count or matter.

No — magic and Lily and her daughter did not belong here, Severus the least of all of them.

There were pictures of what looked like a piglet scattered about on the mantle, on side tables, hanging on the walls. Several of them contained Petunia, who looked exactly the same, and a man who strongly reminded Severus of the type of men that his father went to bars with, back when Lily had stopped speaking to him and Severus had wandered Cokeworth aimlessly.

There were no Muggle photographs of Lily or any other children. None that looked like her, or _Potter._

It was quiet, and dark. The only sound was the hum of the refrigerator somewhere nearby. Dumbledore led the way, casting a wordless _Lumos_ as they made their way through the house. The front hallway led straight into the kitchen, where the smell of tea grew even stronger. There was no sign of forced entry, beside the unlocked door, or a struggle. Severus grew more agitated the more he saw, wondering what in Merlin’s name could have possibly happened to cause Blood Wards to fall.

Upon entering the kitchen, Severus saw them.

Letters — littering the table and shredded in the rubbish bin. There were even some in the sink they’d put through the garbage disposal. Remnants in the fireplace. Severus recalled one year — their third — when Lily had been out with him, that Petunia had taken Lily’s back-to-school letter and shredded it to pieces, leaving it on her bed for her to find. Petunia had only smiled when Lily had asked her why, a horrible grin that had made Severus’ blood boil.

Severus recalled asking why Lily never told Petunia off. She’d laughed at him. _She’s harmless Sev, she’s always done this —_

“The owls would only keep sending them if…” Dumbledore trailed off, and a tense silence filled the air. Severus had the overwhelming urge to smash something — to make the stark whiteness of this awful Muggle house bleed with color. Petunia was behind all of this — the letters, _and_ the Blood Wards falling. Severus didn’t have a doubt in his mind.

“I knew there would be resistance,” Dumbledore said softly. “But this…”

“I _told_ you, Albus.” Severus said, his voice growing in volume with every word. “I fucking _told you_ that Petunia would hate the girl! She all but disowned Lily for it, what makes you think she wouldn’t resent her own niece for something she’ll never have?”

“She was to provide a home for her. There’s no proof that she _hates_ her here.” said Dumbledore somberly. “The Blood Wards were the best way I knew to protect her from Tom. There was no other way.”

“And how good are your precious Blood Wards _now?”_ Severus sneered. “They’re _gone,_ along with the girl and Petunia’s family _._ You told me at the— the _funeral_ that Petunia hadn’t shed a single tear, and you think she’d what? _Love_ the girl? After everything? She’s done something, I tell you. She’s done something to the girl, and now Merlin _knows_ where she is!”

“Do you actually think that how long a person grieves is how much they loved someone?” Dumbledore’s eyes were searching him suddenly, with a scorching intensity. “It takes a moment to tell someone you love them, but a lifetime to prove it. I had _hoped…”_

Dumbledore hung his head, surveying the letters, their remnants, and the rest of the room. Severus had a sinking suspicion he hadn’t only been talking about Petunia.

“Petunia could not love Lily with or without her magic.” Severus stared through the glass door, which led to a patio and rose garden behind the house. “Your precious _love_ was not enough to save Lily, and it was not enough to keep the girl safe, either.”

A loud noise caused them both to snap their necks in the direction of the hall.

Severus moved before Dumbledore did, his wand drawn and ready. Dumbeldore’s foolishness or not, he could not fail Lily before his duties had even started because of miserable fucking Petunia. He had to find the girl — had to find out wherever she had gone, to know whatever her aunt had to her done to make the Blood Wards fail so close to term starting.

“Come out,” he barked, a Binding spell on his lips. “We know you’re there.”

As he quickly moved towards the front door, he heard shuffling to his left. There was a door there he hadn’t noticed earlier.

Severus swung it open to find a small shape pressed up against some shelving that had fallen.

The first thing Severus noticed was that the girl was small for her age — she could’ve passed for two or even three years younger. Severus knew this because he’d known Lily when she was that young, and Lily hadn’t been this petitie when she’d started Hogwarts with Severus. The girl’s hair had been chopped off — she looked like a boy, if that haircut could have been assigned to a specific gender. It was horrendous, uneven on all sides and far too much in the back. Even in the dusty darkness of the cupboard, Severus could see that it was wine red, that deep, full color of fall leaves that Lily had. It was with a surge of loathing so strong that it churned his stomach that he realized Petunia must’ve done this for that very reason. The girl was a little Lily-clone, the pale skin and wine-hair and freckles over the bridge of her nose. The only thing that was missing were Lily’s green eyes. The girl’s eyes were dark —

The box with the memory thrashed around in his mind’s eye, pining for his attention. The little Lily-clone stared back at him, not afraid, but wary. Lily had never looked at him with fear, either. A rush of loathing surged through him, at this thing who was only here because of _Potter,_ because even if she didn’t resemble him, he had done… _this._

Then Severus saw the cot with the pillow and sheets, and the small, dirty lightbulb hanging in the center of the room, and the carvings on the walls beneath the stairs, the dead flowers shriveled up on the shelving and he realized — he realized that _Petunia had —_

“Albus.” he tried to say, but something else came out — the girl’s face stared up at him in shock.

Dumbledore appeared beside him, then. Severus couldn’t see his face because he couldn’t take his eyes off the carvings in the wall.

_how many days one two three four five six_

_happy birthday i wish you were here_

_cold in here_

_tulips one two three four_

_days one two three four five six seven eight nine ten_

_day one two three four_

_rose petals one two three four five six seven eight nine ten eleven twelve_

_letters seal cupboard under the stairs_

He couldn’t see straight anymore, the words were a blur. The depths of Petunia’s hatred shouldn’t have surprised him one bit, but all he could think of was what Lily would say if she were standing where he stood. Her temper had been fearsome, but she’d never truly unleashed it on Petunia. She’d defended her sister and her awful, snide, hateful remarks, because she was her _sister._ Oh, how Severus wished he could throw that back in her face now, to show Lily what _Tuney_ had done to her only child. Lily would have reduced her down to a scorch mark on the wall, and then set fire to the place.

Severus felt a hand grip his shoulder. He’d forgotten the old man was there.

The girl — the Lily-clone — appeared to be trying to make _herself_ a scorch mark, or at least, one with the wall. Her eyes were narrowed, something familiar about them, something Severus tried to pin on Potter, but couldn’t.

_one two buckle my shoe_

_roses last one two three four_

_merry christmas girl_

_girl_

_A R I E L_


	2. letters from someone

Ariel suddenly missed the hedges by the front door. There were no strange people invading the rose bushes, pinning her against walls with their eyes and swearing at her. 

Angry-Man reached a hand towards her, trying to corral her out of the cupboard, but Ariel refused to move. Had Uncle Vernon sent them? Were they… police? Maybe they  _ had  _ called someone after all… but policemen didn’t dress like these two men. Were they  _ secret _ police? Dudley had telly programs about stuff like that. They were certainly dressed oddly enough. Oh god,  _ oh god oh god oh god _ — 

The Angry-Man was tall, taller than Uncle Vernon, and dressed from head to toe in black. Even his hair was black, shoulder length, and hiding part of his face like a curtain. It looked like it hadn’t been washed recently. Behind all that hair was a large, hooked nose and two black eyes, darker than the night that she loved and hated, glaring down at her. He looked like he’d peeled himself out of a shadow. His chin could’ve cut glass

(He was at least fifty times scarier than Uncle Vernon, Ariel theorized)

“Professor Snape, why don’t we move into the kitchen. I think we might have given Miss Evans a fright, yes?” suggested the Old Man beside him. Ariel had nearly forgotten he was there. He had a long, silver beard, weird glasses, and wore a deep blue… was it a toga with a cape? Ariel couldn’t tell, Angry-Man was filling up the entire doorway. The Old Man looked much nicer, though. Somewhere, at the back of her mind, Ariel wished the Old Man had found her instead. 

“Are you seeing  _ any  _ of this?” Angry-Man shrieked — dust fell from the ceiling and the lightbulb string swung wildly, like when Dudley stomped down the stairs in the morning. Ariel winced.

“I do, Severus.” said the Old Man, in a much sterner tone. “And now, I would very much like to speak to you privately.” 

Ariel could tell he wasn’t asking, it was an order. Angry-Man shot her one last withering glare, his lip curled and hands balled at his sides, and stormed out of the cupboard’s doorway. She let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding in, the letter crumpled in her hands. 

When she looked back to the doorway, the Old Man was gone too. 

She took a deep, shaky breath. No sounds came from the kitchen… had they left? No, the Old Man said they were going to have a “private conversation.” What did that  _ mean?  _ Was it about her? Should she run while they were talking? Were they here about the letters? She couldn’t hear them talking,  _ still… _

They looked like the people that stopped her on the street sometimes. Some shook her hand, some just beamed and waved. Aunt Petunia had always warned her about men like that, that men that were too friendly to her couldn’t be trusted. Ariel had never understood why, but she got the feeling that as much as Aunt Petunia hated her, this thought upset her greatly. She’d always seemed to make it sound like it was Ariel’s fault, though, simply because of the way Ariel looked. Aunt Petunia insisted she keep her hair short, for that reason. Because of strange men. 

Strange men that were in the HOUSE. 

Ariel was starting to see stars in her vision. She could hear her blood thumping in her ears, as loud as a rushing river. She slowly inched forward, afraid that they’d grab her, that they were just outside the door, waiting, but when she peeked her head out, there was no one there. Reaching inside her backpack, she fumbled for the picture of her mum and held it close. 

Ariel stared upwards. She’d memorized the cracks that lined the small ceiling above her what felt like a million times. Ariel was quite sure she knew each and every one at that point, knew where each one led, where they began and stopped, and if they crossed paths with others. When she had been younger, Ariel had liked to imagine they were rivers, winding and twisting wherever the water brought them. But of course, the roar of Uncle Vernon’s voice was nothing like the rush of water, nor was Aunt Petunia’s high pitched screeches birds nesting in trees that may lay above them. Ariel was too old for such fantasies now, anyway, but sometimes, especially if she was feeling particularly lonely, she still imagined.

The letter had said she was accepted to Hogwarts, School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. They expected an… owl with her response? Ariel hadn’t had time to sit and digest this before having to hide from a home invasion. The Dursleys sure had chosen one heck of a time to leave her here,  _ alone,  _ although, they didn’t know that, did they? They probably thought she was huddled under a park bench somewhere. Or dead. 

“What do I do  _ now?” _ Ariel whispered to herself. “I can’t just leave…” 

She could though, couldn’t she? Ariel didn’t live here anymore. By now it was dark inside, the house absolutely silent — she felt like she’d been hiding in the cupboard for hours. Ariel stood there, willing the picture to say something —  _ anything —  _ because none of this was making much sense. She needed a sign. 

Beneath her feet, the floor vibrated. 

She turned her gaze towards the kitchen. 

Angry-Man and the Old Man were talking — Ariel could definitely see that. Angry-Man — what had his name been? Snippy? — was waving his arms, his mouth moving a mile a minute, his teeth bared in a menacing sneer, like Aunt Marge’s dog. It looked like he was shouting, but Ariel couldn’t  _ hear _ anything. At one point, he took one of the kitchen chairs and kicked it across the floor, where it collided with the back door. Ariel gawked as the glass shattered, but she still heard nothing. Was she dreaming? This  _ had _ to be a dream. Either that, or she’d gone as mental as Uncle Vernon. 

She eyed the front door nervously and bit her lip.  _ Should _ she make a run for it? They hadn’t tried to harm her… 

They both stopped when they noticed her watching. Old Man had a peculiar expression on his face, like he had just received bad news. Aunt Petunia had the same look when Dudley hurt himself, or when Uncle Vernon had a particularly unpleasant day at work. Her aunt had never looked at Ariel like that. Angry-Man just glared, his black eyes burning a hole in her forehead. She could see his hands shaking at his sides. 

There was a rush of sound, like air blowing through a tunnel, and suddenly, Ariel was aware that she hadn’t been hearing  _ anything —  _ not even the sounds of night, which now filled her senses since the back door had been shattered open. It was like someone had taken cotton out of her ears. Crickets and the rush of cars driving, shrieks of children laughing as they played in the final hours of the day, the cool summer night rustling the leaves of the garden in the backyard. When Ariel looked back to the Old Man, he was holding a… stick? 

“It’s alright, my dear.” said the Old Man. “Professor Snape and I were having a rather animated discussion and wanted to give you a moment to yourself.”

Ariel snuck a glance at Angry-Man — Snape. He was a professor? None of her teachers at school looked or acted like him. They definitely didn’t  _ swear —  _ and he’d said one of the  _ really  _ bad ones. 

Snape looked her up and down, like he was just now seeing her. “Look at her. She’s filthy.” 

“I’ve been sitting in the bushes out front all day.” Ariel said, trying to sound brave, but her voice came out very small. “I was waiting for the postman.” She gestured to the table. The remaining letters were all over the place now, littering the floor and chairs. Some were even starting to blow through the broken backyard door.

Snape flinched when she spoke, like she’d brandished a whip at him. The Old Man looked to him, a question on his face. 

“The postman delivers Muggle mail.” Snape said flatly. 

“Thank you, Severus.” the Old Man looked very troubled — almost concerned. “And you haven’t been allowed to open any of these letters, I gather?” 

Ariel shook her head, regretting that she’d said anything, and now, she was talking to two  _ very _ odd strangers in the middle of the Dursleys kitchen. This was not how she’d imagined today to go at all. 

“My dear girl,” the Old Man said. “has your aunt told you anything about Hogwarts?” 

“What do you  _ think?”  _ Snape hissed at him, like he’d said something incredibly stupid. 

Ariel blinked up at them both. “My uncle wouldn’t let me read — who  _ are  _ you?” 

Snape let out something that sounded like a snarl, which Ariel would’ve found funny if she hadn’t been so terribly confused (and maybe even a bit scared). 

“She’s quite right, Severus, we’ve been rather rude, haven’t we?” the Old Man smiled down at her, his blue eyes twinkling. “I apologize Ariel, but we were alerted that you may have found yourself in a spot of trouble.”

Ariel stared back at him, confused. How did they know her name? “Someone called the police? If they saw me jump out of the window, I did that this morning. Was it the Dursleys? They just left —” 

“You jumped  _ out of a window?”  _ Snape-Man sent a cracking look of hatred at the Old Man. His eyes darted around the room wildly, like he was looking for someone. 

“Well, I had to.” she explained, putting her hands on her hips. “I’ve been getting these letters and the Dursleys wouldn’t let me open one of them, wouldn’t tell me who they were from —” A thought popped into her head, then. “Are  _ you _ the ones sending them?” 

“Where  _ are  _ you guardians tonight?” Snape asked in a deadly tone, like he already knew what the answer was, but her saying it outloud would make it real. 

Ariel lowered her eyes to the floor — she’d streaked dirt all over the carpet from her shoes. Aunt Petunia was going to have a fit. “They went out to celebrate me being… gone. I hid outside all day, you know. I think they went to one of those fancy restaurants in town. I don’t know where, I’ve never been.” 

Something was happening to Snape’s face, something dark that pulled at the lines in his face like a riptide. The air in the room started to shimmer, as if there was heat permeating off of pavement in the height of summer, or the stove when Aunt Petunia cooked on high. There came a clattering sound, and when Ariel finally forced herself to look away from Snape’s face, she — 

The tea set on the kitchen table … the potted plants on the wall and shelves… the china… they were all  _ floating.  _ Ariel stared, and stared, and stared. She couldn’t believe what she was seeing. Had she passed out from the bee stings? Maybe she  _ was  _ allergic after all… 

There was a loud  _ CRACK,  _ and suddenly, the two men were gone. Ariel stumbled back, gasping as she landed on her bottom. All of the decorations that had been levitating came crashing to the ground, a sound so loud that Ariel had to cover her ears. 

She smacked her forehead, one, two, three times. 

“Wake up,” she said. “You’ve really lost it. Wake  _ up.”  _

Aunt Petunia was going to absolutely lose it when she saw the state of this place. Ariel almost wished she could stay and watch, but she was leaving, and she wasn’t ever coming back. She was leaving, right NOW, and she was — 

_ CRASH  _

The sound came from upstairs. Ariel jumped back to her feet, clutching the letter and picture tight against her chest.  _ What _ was —

Another  _ POP  _ cracked through the room, and the Old Man was back, without Snape, this time. Ariel yelped. “How —” her head spun.  _ “How —”  _

“Apparition,” his blue eyes twinkled down at her in amusement. “In situations like these, I find it can be very useful.”

Ariel stared at him, gobsmacked. When she still said nothing, the Old Man chuckled. She wondered what about this situation was funny to him. She didn’t know if she wanted in on the joke. 

“ Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore.” he held out a hand. “I apologize for the delay in introductions, but Professor Snape and I were worried something had happened to you, my dear girl.” 

That name — as long as it was — sounded familiar. Ariel inched closer. “You’re… you’re the headmaster… in the letter.” 

“Well, I would certainly hope so.” Dumbledore looked himself over, stretching over his arms, as if he was proving he was real. “I see you’ve finally managed to read your acceptance letter, then.”

“I read it while I was in the cupboard. But… but how did you  _ do  _ that?” Ariel asked as another BOOM echoed from upstairs. “You disappeared… where’s… the other guy? Professor —”

“Professor Snape needed a moment to collect his thoughts,” said Dumbledore. “I thought he would do it best upstairs.” 

_ THUD THUD THUDTHUDTHUD _

Ariel took another tentative step towards him. “Is he… okay?” 

“Oh, he’ll be alright.” he smiled at her for the first time. At least, Ariel thought it was a smile. She couldn’t see anything behind his mustache and beard. “Won’t you take a seat, my dear? I’d love to hear about your adventure today.” 

He sat down in one of the kitchen chairs, motioning for Ariel to take the one across from him. 

_ BANG BANG BANG  _

Ariel gazed up at the ceiling. Dumbledore sat patiently, as though he didn’t hear the herd of elephants clamoring around upstairs. Not wanting to be rude, Ariel took the seat across from him. She didn’t take her eyes off the ceiling, though. The kitchen's lights were swinging around wildly. “You mentioned it before… Hogwarts. You work there?”

Dumbledore gave her a long, searching look. There was something sad in his blue eyes now that looked like regret. He opened his mouth, and then closed it before turning to the letter laying open on the kitchen table. 

_ CRAAACK — BOOM _

“What has your aunt told you about your past, Ariel?” he asked quietly, folding his hands in front of him. “About your parents? It would be wise to start there, I think.”

Ariel furrowed her eyebrows. What did this have to do with Hogwarts? “My mum and dad? She said they died in a drunk-driving accident. She  _ hates  _ when I ask about them. I found a trunk upstairs full of Mum’s stuff, but she had a fit when she saw. I really wanted to see what was in it.” 

She remembered that day very clearly, for some reason. It stuck out her in mind, like a tulip in a field of dandelions. 

Aunt Petunia had ordered Ariel to clean out the attic that day — it had been the hottest day of the year, the heat stifling, even outside. It was humid, and sticky, and not a cloud in the sky to cover the unrelenting sun. The grass had even started to burn outside. Aunt Petunia had been fretting about her precious roses, moving the sprinkler every now and then to make sure they were all getting enough water.

There had been no relief from the heat inside whatsoever, not even with the fans blowing at full force and all the windows wide open. Dudley had been standing in front of the fridge all afternoon, stuffing his head inside the freezer and raiding it for ice cream and ice pops. Ariel had been wiping sweat off her face with the raggedy old blanket she’d been given in her cupboard — which felt like the inside of a volcano — when Aunt Petunia had yanked the door open, handed her a broom and a dustpan, and ordered her upstairs. She’d nearly cried, climbing the stairs, because the second floor had been even hotter than the cupboard, which meant the attic was going to be a furnace. 

Ariel had nearly collapsed when she’d yanked the door open, a wall of hot, stifling air hitting her smack in the face. There were no windows, no relief from the overwhelming heat that was going to cook her in a matter of minutes, if she stayed up here long. She’d gritted her teeth and set to work, convinced that even if she cleaned in record time, Aunt Petunia wouldn’t bother to trudge up here any time soon to check her work — forget Uncle Vernon and Dudley. They were about as useless as a sack of potatoes today, even if it meant making her life miserable.

She’d noticed the trunk because it was sitting in the very center of the room, all of the other junk pushed to the walls and sides of the room. At first glance, it almost seemed like it had been waiting for her, but that was impossible. Wiping her forehead, Ariel had knelt down to look at it when she’d spied the name scrawled across the top —  _ Lily.  _

It wasn’t very tall, but it was wide, and covered in dust. As Ariel wiped it away, the dust sticking to her clammy hands, she saw that the wood underneath was a rustic grey,  _ very  _ different from the porcelain white furniture downstairs. There were brown buckles with golden knobs holding it closed, and a huge, metal clasp in the center. 

Ariel’s heart had lifted so high that it felt like it was going to pull her straight through the roof overhead. 

The heat forgotten, she’d hungrily bent down to open the latch when she saw the lock. Her heart fell back down to her stomach, but at her touch, it fell open with a  _ click.  _ She felt a sense of amazement at her luck… or maybe she was having a heart stroke? Either way, she didn’t waste any time. With shaking hands, her heart on fire, Ariel had opened the trunk and found one picture sitting on top… the picture of her mum she’d always kept with her from that day on. 

Ariel had never seen a picture of her Mum before that day. Aunt Petunia claimed that she didn’t have any, that their mistakes were not to be on display in  _ This House. _ She’d sat with that picture for a long time, staring at it, memorizing every line in her mum’s face, her smile, the waves in her hair —  _ my hair we have the same hair  _ — the freckles on her nose, the way it was scrunched as she  _ laughed  _ and the  _ laughter lines…  _

That was when Aunt Petunia had appeared behind her, furious that Ariel had made her come upstairs, because apparently it had been  _ two hours.  _

And then she’d spotted the trunk. 

Aunt Petunia had shrieked, demanding to know where it had come from. Ariel quickly closed it with a  _ thunk,  _ putting the lock back in place before shoving the picture in her pocket. She’d grabbed Ariel by the hair, demanding she hand it over, demanding that she tell her  _ what was inside that horrid chest your mother left, she didn’t want it up here, it was full of rubbish and nonsense and awful things —  _

No matter how hard Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon had tried, they hadn’t been able to lift it off the ground to get rid of it. It wasn’t even that big — no bigger than the futon in the living room no one was allowed to sit on or use. They couldn’t even open it, like Ariel had. They’d tried to make her do it herself, but she wouldn’t. Uncle Vernon had shouted until he went blue in the face and nearly passed out from the heat, but as they slammed the door to the attic shut, leaving Ariel in there, she’d realized that this trunk — this picture — might’ve been the only thing she’d ever truly had to care about.

That trunk was more precious than a thousand meals, a thousand days locked in the cupboard, a thousand punches from Dudley. It had sat up there, untouched, and Ariel had resigned herself to the fact that she’d probably have to wait a long time before another opportunity presented itself. Aunt Petunia kept the attic locked, after that. 

Ariel found herself telling Dumbledore this story. She couldn’t read his expression, but he looked far away, like he’d gone somewhere and forgotten to take himself. Maybe he had. Maybe he’d used magic. 

“I see.” Was all he said, bowing his head. “I take it you haven’t been back since?” 

Ariel shook her head. “I haven’t had a chance to try and pick the lock.” 

Dumbledore’s mustache twitched. “And who, might I ask, taught you that?” 

She shrugged. “No one. It’s not really lock picking… things just seem to do that around here for me… unlock, I mean. It happened with the trunk, with the cupboard. I don’t really go upstairs, so I haven’t had a chance to try the attic door again. Aunt Petunia makes a point to know where I am, most days.” 

All traces of amusement left Dumbledore’s face as Ariel spoke. He gave her another serious, searching look, like he was trying to read her mind. “Did you happen to see anything else in your mother’s trunk? Anything that caught your eye?” 

He seemed awful interested in it, Ariel thought, almost as interested as her. “No, sir. I just took the picture. I wish I had, then maybe I might’ve known about…” she smoothed the Hogwarts letter out on the table, placing it between them. “I think there’s been some sort of mistake, sir. I don’t know anything about a Hogwarts school…”

A place like Hogwarts didn’t sound real — seem possible. Magic didn't seem possible either, but the letter in front of her said something different entirely. So did all the…  _ stuff  _ that had been happening since Dumbledore and Snape (another series of deafening crashes shook the ceiling) arrived. 

“I can assure you, there’s been no mistake.” Dumbledore said. “You, my girl, are a witch.” 

* * *

Severus could feel his rage in his teeth, itching all the way down to his molars. Everything was red, bleeding into the too-white-ness of Petunia’s miserable fucking house. He was furious, mostly with Petunia, but almost equally with Dumbledore. He’d  _ begged  _ the old codger not to send her here, to Lily’s magic-hating sister, but the  _ Blood Wards,  _ the  _ BLOOD WARDS —  _

What good was it now, that the Blood Wards had fallen? The girl had  _ clearly  _ been planning on running away. She’d had a backpack secured on her, bursting with clothes — there had been a shirt sleeve hanging out the side. If this wasn’t her home, there was no protection. What if they hadn’t gotten here in time? What if — 

_ They went out to celebrate me being gone  _

He remembered Petunia baking a cake in the Evans’ kitchen, remembered Lily asking what the occasion was and Petunia flashing a vicious smile,  _ “The fact that you’re leaving with that horrible boy.”  _

Severus shot another Stunner at the bed — the lamp went flying, knocking over an entire row of pictures on the dresser. 

(There was none of the girl, not even one of Lily, just like the downstairs)

Dumbledore had left him locked in here to talk with the brat before Severus had realized what was happening. He wondered what good that would do, how  _ long  _ he’d be confined to Petunia’s bedroom while Dumbledore told her everything. There was no doubt in Severus’ mind that the girl knew nothing. Petunia would never have shared a shred of information if she could help it. It was bitter and petty and ugly, just like her. If Petunia couldn’t have magic, she’d sure as hell make sure Lily’s daughter wouldn’t either. 

The girl. Covered head to toe in dirt, twigs sticking out of her hair, the horrendous haircut and dark eyes. He was certain that Petunia couldn’t stand the sight of the girl either, of the little Not-Lily child, missing her mother’s green eyes. Her clothes didn’t fit, and she’d been wearing two different shoes. Severus couldn’t even tell if she had Lily’s freckles, her face was so dirty. She certainly didn’t  _ look _ like an Ariel Evans, darling of the wizarding world. 

Severus had remembered being vaguely bewildered when he’d read that Lily had chosen to give her child her maiden name. He’d known she’d kept it, from the marriage announcement in the Prophet, and had felt something akin to heartless joy, mostly aimed at Potter. It had clearly been a middle finger to the Dark Lord, the very sort of thing Lily had been known for at Hogwarts. Avery would mutter “Mudblood” under his breath, and Lily wouldn’t hesitate to send a Stinging Hex his way. She’d pin him down with her stare and curse him under her breath until Prince Potter and the rest of his cronies would appear to rescue her. The difference was that Severus knew Lily could handle herself, and Potter did not. Lily wouldn’t have taken a Pureblood name for protection, even if she loved — 

He’d thought not giving the child that protection was idiotic, even if it was only in name and social-class. When the Dark Lord had declared that Potter and Lily’s baby was the child destined to die, he’d sneered and laughed at the common, Muggle name she held, thought it stupid and childish, like her mother. He’d thought it would be so easy, thought it ridiculous that a Mudblood’s child could  _ possibly  _ hold any sort of power formidable enough to destroy  _ him.  _

How wrong he had been, Severus thought miserably. 

And that  _ cupboard —  _

He shredded the comforter on the bed, feathers flying everywhere. The thing with the Lily-hair and Lily-face downstairs, even if it was half Potter, didn’t deserve to be treated like a caged animal. The carvings in those walls… the backwards E’s and S’s. It was a new low beneath  _ him _ , and he made children cry regularly. Even if he’d hated the little monster instantly, hated that she existed, hated that he was so angry with Petunia  _ and  _ Lily because of it, because people were all too trusting in each other, he would never do  _ that _ to a child. 

He was going to have to look at that Lily-face with dark eyes and remember the cupboard for the next seven years. He was going to have to look at that blasted scar on her forehead.

_ a scar does not form on the dead, a scar means they survived  _

Severus pointed his wand at the bed once more — he was going to make Petunia  _ very  _ sorry. 

* * *

Ariel had blocked out all of the loud noises coming from upstairs when Dumbledore reached the part about her parents being murdered by an evil wizard. This sounded like something in a fairytale book, or a movie. She tried to imagine her Aunt Petunia knowing all of this,  _ keeping  _ it from her, and her head nearly exploded. 

This hunger inside of her to know them — James and Lily, Dad and Mum — had been steadily growing. She’d tried to picture who they were while Dumbledore spoke, what they sounded like, their personalities and what parts of her were them, what she could say they shared so she could cherish them and know that she had not always been alone. 

“They must have been really brave.” Ariel said, looking down at her feet. She wished she was a bit taller so they’d reach the floor, she needed to feel more grounded right now. “To do all that, when Volevant —” 

“Voldemort.” Dumbledore corrected her gently. “And yes, they were immensely brave. Love is mostly ill advised, but always brave.” 

Ariel nodded, not really understanding what he’d meant, but that was okay, for now. There was a lot she still didn’t understand. Why had Voldemort wanted to kill them? Why hadn’t Ariel died? Did Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon really know all of this, had they been lying all this time about the drunk-driving accident, or is that what they were told? They must’ve known she had magic… 

_ Petunia could not love Lily with or without her magic —  _ that’s what Snape had said while Ariel had still been hiding in the cupboard, before she’d stumbled backwards and knocked over the shelving. Is that why Aunt Petunia despised her? Because she’d known Ariel had magic like her mum? 

“I still have more questions.” she said to Dumbledore, who, to her surprise, had started to stand up. 

“I’m sure you do,” he folded his hands in front of him. “Fortunately, we have all the time in the world to discuss them. For now, I’d be forever grateful if you could show me that trunk your mother left you. Of all the things I left for Petunia to someday give to you, a trunk was not one of them.” 

Ariel nodded. Her head felt like it weighed a ton all of a sudden. Maybe it was too full from all the information she’d just been given. Dumbledore looked tired too, like he’d aged while talking about Voldemort and her mum and dad. 

She sipped the last of the tea Dumbeldore had made for them — quite literally. He’d waved his hands at the broken china and it had fixed itself, like a bunch of magnets snapping together at once. Ariel had felt a twinge of disappointment, because that was Aunt Petunia’s  _ precious  _ china, and Ariel was a little satisfied to see it broken in pieces. She’d polished that china for  _ hours  _ throughout the years. When it landed on the table, there was steam coming from the teapot, and their cups were filled to the brim with hot tea. There had even been cream and sugar in hers, just the way she liked it. 

As Ariel climbed the stairs behind Dumbledore to the second floor, the banging and crashing stopped abruptly. Ariel shot Dumbledore a nervous glance — he didn’t seem worried at all about Professor Snape, or the fact that he’d been tearing apart the house for nearly twenty minutes. Not that Ariel cared… Aunt Petunia probably wasn’t going to survive this, though. She was going to drop dead of a heart attack when she saw the state of the place.

Dumbledore glided to Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon’s bedroom door, knocked twice (Ariel saw his lips, behind all that hair, curled upwards) and called, “Severus?” 

Uneasy silence, and then — 

“Were you hurt,” said a muffled, scary voice. “in the mental leap it must have  _ TAKEN YOU TO THINK—” _

“Severus.” said Dumbledore. “I have Ariel with me.”

There was another long, pregnant pause before Snape spoke again, this time, much quieter, but equally as terrifying. “Well?” he bit out. “The brat can’t stay. She’s broken the wards by leaving and Petunia gladly accepting the fact that she’s been  _ gone. _ Do you plan on keeping me locked in here until the Ministry figures it out, or have you decided to finally  _ do  _ something about it?”

Ariel bristled at his comment. Sure, her aunt and uncle had called her that all the time, but Snape’s label seemed a bit unwarranted. She hadn’t been rude, had she? This didn’t seem to phase Dumbledore at all. He took out his stick — wand? — and muttered something Ariel couldn’t make out. He pushed open the door to her aunt and uncle’s room, sticking his head in. 

“What a lovely job you’ve done redecorating, my boy.” Dumbledore said mildly. “I’m sure Ariel’s aunt will find it quite abstract.” 

Ariel peeked around Dumbledore’s tall frame to see what he was talking about. Her jaw just about hit the ground. It looked like an atomic bomb had gone off in there. Feathers and shards of glass, wood, stuff she couldn’t even identify covered the floor. The dresser had been split in two, and the bedrame was somehow gone. As Ariel craned her neck, she caught sight of their bathroom — a small lake was forming, the shower rod and curtain lying in a muddled heap. The toilet was inside of the bathtub. 

Snape was suddenly there, in the hallway with them, and Ariel ducked back behind Dumbledore. She certainly didn’t want to stand in his way after seeing  _ that,  _ even if she was impressed with his work.

“It’s nothing less than she deserves.” Snape sent him a look so awful that it could have peeled the paint off the walls. “Are you done here, then? The longer we stay with no protection, the more vulnerable the girl is.”

“In a moment,” Dumbledore said — he’d found the attic door at the very end of the hallway. “Miss Evans and I have some business to attend to.”

“What could you  _ possibly —”  _

“Why don’t you see if anything in Petunia’s kitchen needs attending to?” suggested Dumbledore, who, despite sounding cheerful, had a sinister air glowing about him. Ariel could almost see it, in the way the hall lights flickered and the shadows grew, though only for a split second. 

Snape gave a horrible, twisted sort of grimace, his cloak whipping with an audible  _ crack  _ as he pivoted around and down the stairs. Ariel couldn’t if he’d gone because he was still furious for being locked in Aunt Petunia’s room, or because he’d felt Dumbeldore too. Maybe it was both. 

Ariel wrung her hands, suddenly feeling very bad for him, even if he was mean and absolutely terrifying. “Are you sure he’s alright? He doesn’t seem to want to be here, much.”

“Professor Snape very rarely does what is asked of him if he does not wish to do so,” said Dumbledore.  _ “Alohomora.”  _

The attic door slowly creaked upon, and they both stepped inside. The trunk — her  _ mum’s  _ trunk — was exactly where Ariel had last seen it. She felt as if she was greeting an old friend as she knelt down to wipe off the new layer of dust that had formed over her mother’s name again. Her heart went  _ THUMPTHUMPTHUMP  _ — the lock fell off with a snap, and Ariel was starting into that wonderful, amazing trunk once more. There were pictures ( _ there are more PICTURES,  _ a little voice hollered inside her head) and pieces of parchment, rolled up with little bows and a… test tube? Something was inside it, but just as she was about to pick it up, something else caught her eye. 

It was ( _ another _ ) letter. Not as fancy as the one from Hogwarts, but it had her name on it —  _ Ariel  _ — in wobbly, cursive writing. Whoever had written clearly hadn’t had a steady hand, she thought to herself. 

_ it’s a letter a letter to ME from MUM to ME  _

“Ariel?” Dumbledore called from behind her. “Is this it?” 

She quickly shoved the letter in her pocket. “Yes, sir, it’s unlocked —”

“That’s alright, thank you, my dear.” he placed a hand on her shoulder as she stood up. “I’ll be sure to return this to you once you’re settled.” 

Settled? Settled where? You couldn’t settle if you were on the run, could you? Or maybe he meant in September, when she’d start Hogwarts. But that was over a  _ month  _ from now, Ariel thought, suddenly crestfallen. She couldn’t wait a  _ month.  _

“Can’t I at least take some of the pictures?” Ariel asked in a small voice, not wanting to upset him. “I only have the one…” She reached into her jacket to show him, to prove that she had this precious thing that she only wanted more of. If there were jewels and money in the trunk, she didn’t care, all she wanted were pictures. 

Dumbledore took the photo, but his gaze did not leave Ariel. There was a great sadness there that caused a lump to form in her own throat, and she didn’t know why. It was like the photo had reminded him of something tragic. He nodded, and disappeared back into the hallway, and down the stairs. Ariel couldn’t read his expression, but right now, she didn’t care. 

Ariel dove into the trunk — there were jumpers, notebooks, the vile from before with something sparkling inside, moving around like it was alive. None of that concerned her though, all she wanted was a picture of Mum and Dad, just  _ one more —  _

She’d grabbed as many as she could shove into her backpack without ruining them. Now wasn’t the time to look, but she could see glimpses as she sorted through. There were no more letters (thank  _ God,  _ she thought, a little relieved) but she could see photo albums and books, all with the same handwriting on them. Ariel prayed Dumbledore had meant what he said, and that he’d return the trunk to her once he’d gone through it. Why did he want it anyway? Could it have to do with — what had his name been? Voldysnort? 

It didn’t matter. Ariel had her pictures, and that made her the richest girl in the entire world. 

The door to the kitchen was closed when she went back downstairs to join Dumbledore. That was probably for the best. Snape was there too, looking sullen and angry and bored all at once. He did not look at Ariel. There was an unspoken conversation happening between Snape and Dumbledore with their eyes. 

“Severus, you will take her, if you don’t mind.” Dumbledore finally said, and it was an order that sounded a whole lot like a suggestion, but underneath the pleasantness in his voice, there was something brewing, that cold, icy fury Ariel had caught in his blue eyes when he’d seen her in the cupboard. “I think I’ll wait here for Ariel’s aunt and uncle to return.”

_ “No,”  _ Snape sounded like he was chewing on nails.  _ “I  _ will deal with Petunia, you owe me that much, Albus.”

“I cannot have you doing anything that I won’t be able to defend in front of the Ministry.” Dumbledore sighed. “Your anger is not misplaced, but as I am trusting you with Miss Evans, I would hope that you would trust me to deal with this adequately.” 

“She  _ deserves —”  _

“There is a difference between what is deserved, and what is right, Severus.”

Snape said nothing, but he looked like he wanted to argue with him. He gave one last disgusted glance at the cupboard — Ariel didn’t blame him, she hadn’t exactly tidied it up before she’d been sent to Dudley’s second bedroom — and fixed his bottomless, black eyes on her. 

“Come along.” he said in a hard voice. Ariel didn’t know why, but it made her shiver. 

“Where are we going?” she asked, immediately regretting it. The sharp look he gave her made her stomach drop to her feet. 

“Hogwarts.” It was clear by his tone  _ that _ would be the last thing he’d be saying on the matter. 

Snape was out the door before Ariel could even blink. She looked to Dumbledore, and gave him a small smile. “Thank you, sir.”

His face still looked friendly, but she could see pain in his eyes, like a body behind a curtain. “Whatever for, my dear girl?” 

“For the Hogwarts letter… and the pictures.” She fought the urge to hug him. She’d never hugged anyone before, anyway. 

Dumbledore placed an old, withered hand on her shoulder, and squeezed. “It was my pleasure, Ariel, and well within your birthright.” He gazed up the stairs, like someone was waiting for him. “I shall see you at Hogwarts later, after I’ve had some time to discuss what has happened with your aunt and uncle.” 

Ariel nodded, and he began climbing the stairs, robes trailing behind him. She wondered if she really would see him again. Something told her she wouldn’t, or at least, not until school started. The thought made her anxious. She went to follow Snape, and immediately stopped on the front stoop. Her feet had stopped working, unable to make her go forward into this new reality. He was standing there, in front of the house, just off the lawn. He reminded her of a vampire, like if he set foot on the property without being invited, he’d burn alive or drop dead or something. 

“What is it?” Snape asked sharply from the street. “Have you forgotten something?” 

“No… I just…” Ariel swallowed, trying to organize her thoughts, which were spinning out of control the harder she tried to collect them. “I don’t know… I don’t have that much money, and I don’t have anywhere to go —”

“I just told you, we’re  _ going  _ to Hogwarts.” Snape said, tapping his foot impatiently. “Money is of no consequence.” 

“But… but I can’t  _ stay  _ there now! Hogwarts isn’t until September, and I don’t have money to pay for school or books or anything, I don’t have anywhere to go before then and if I try and use the money for a motel I won’t have money for food, and Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia think I’ve run away! They’ve  _ always _ said if that happened they’d change the locks — ” Ariel was vaguely aware she was rambling, but she suddenly felt as if instead of Dumbledore  _ helping,  _ he was throwing a wrench into her plan. She’d always been on her own, and she could  _ do this  _ if they let her, she  _ knew  _ she could. 

She’d stumbled off the stoop, desperate to make him see. He’d called her a brat, he had to know that she wasn’t worth this much trouble, even if she  _ had  _ supposedly defeated some evil old wizard. She had her pictures, she wanted to be alone, alone with her mum and her dad in a place no one could take them from her ever again.

Snape was staring at her differently, now. He looked almost cautious, like Ariel might charge him, or she was about to throw a tantrum. In the dim glow of the streetlight, she could barely make him out, barely separate him from the inky darkness. 

He crossed the lawn in three strides and before Ariel could high tail it back inside, he was there.

Snape bent down so that he was eye level with her. His eyes glittered at her like two black beetles. 

“Don’t be ridiculous.” he said in a cold voice, like winter. It was neither condescending or assuring, but somewhere in the middle, like he was telling her it was fine, and it didn’t matter if she didn’t think so.  _ He _ did, and if she tried to say anything against that, he’d make her sorry. 

When Snape held out his arm, Ariel did not hesitate to take it. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter will probably contain a large time-jump, so I hope to have something up this time next week.
> 
> Reviews would go a long way. Stay safe, everyone x


	3. unfathered

_31 October, 1991_

It had been ninety-four days since Ariel had left the Dursleys.

Ariel had been keeping track. She’d left two days before her birthday, and now, it was Halloween. Ninety-four days sounded like a long time in her head, but in reality, it had flown by. The timeline was a game of ping-pong in her memory, from staying in the infirmary with Madam Pomfrey, going to Diagon Alley with Hagrid on her birthday to get her school things, and then being taken to the Weasleys for the rest of the summer. Ariel had been terrified (exhilarated) when she’d first walked into the Burrow, where Molly Weasley had greeted her like they’d known each other their whole life. Ron had shown her around, but Fred and George had been the first one to laugh at her jokes. Well, at least, _they’d_ thought it was a joke. They’d been prying about what happened to cause her to end up with them, and Ariel had mentioned that Dumbledore and Snape had taken her to Hogwarts, which the twins had found absolutely hysterical. Apparently, Snape was, in Fred and George’s words, a _huge dick._ Ariel didn’t really know what that meant, but she supposed she agreed.

The Weasleys had taken care of her like she was one of their own. She’d cried that first night, because she hadn’t done a single thing in her life to deserve this, but by some stroke of luck, she was never going to see the Dursleys again.

Which was why she felt silly not wanting to go to the Halloween Feast.

Ariel thought whacking her head underneath her bed after finding a mysterious jumper down there was the only sign she needed not to go tonight, but she still felt weird about it. She rubbed the back of her head, trying not to alert Hermione as the pain subsided. She bit her tongue as she stood up. Luckily, Hermione had disappeared into the bathroom, which left Ariel alone in the girl’s dorm for a minute or two. Hermione was getting ready to go to the Feast, but what she didn’t know was that Ariel wouldn’t be joining her tonight.

She looked over at the collage of pictures behind her bed frame, mounted to the wall with a Sticking Charm. Lavender had helped Ariel put them up the first week of school, insisting that she keep them out _(your Dad is a DREAM, Ariel Evans)_. They were the pictures from her mum’s trunk, the ones that weren’t safely tucked away in the photo albums. Some of them were Muggle, and some magic. Ariel loved them all, but she would’ve been lying if she’d said that the magic ones weren’t her favorite, especially the one of her parents' wedding. She could’ve watched her mum and dad’s sparkling faces as they twirled around each other until the end of time. They’d decorated them with fairy lights Lavender had brought from home, connecting the pictures together like a roadmap. When Ariel had trouble falling asleep, she’d sit up and stare at them.

Ariel stopped reminiscing when she heard Hermione come out of the bathroom. “Is this your jumper?” she asked, holding it up for Hermione to see. “It was under my bed.”

Hermione squinted from across the room, tugging on the brush that had gotten caught in her hair (again). “Yes, you borrowed it when we went to the lake last weekend, remember?”

She did. Ariel would never forget that day, because it was the day she realized she had a friend. She’d never had a friend before, and she’d been nervous that she was going to push Hermione away, somehow, that she’d see straight through her and her lightning bolt scar and think she was a freak. The Dursleys had always looked at Ariel with disgust, fear, apprehension, and indifference, but everyone at Hogwarts looked at her with a sense of starstruck caution. Ariel didn’t know which was worse, but Hermione had never looked at her like that. That day by the lake, though, had been the most fun Ariel had ever had — and that was saying something, because she didn’t think Hagrid taking her to Diagon Alley, or the sense of amazement and breathtaking wonderment she’d felt when she’d first looked up at Hogwarts, when Snape had brought her here, could ever possibly be topped. Meeting Hermione on the Hogwarts Express was almost as amazing as living in a magic castle.

Magic castles that had three-headed dogs, they’d learned. Maybe _that_ was why Hermione had decided to be her friend. Stuff like that was bound to bring people together. Besides, it wasn’t every day you saw stuff like _that_ (or almost _died,_ either).

Ariel sat down at the edge of her bed, shutting her mum’s trunk with a dull _thud._ She let her hand rest on it for a moment, thankful that Dumbledore had stuck to his word and returned it to her. Everything was there, all the picture albums and jumpers and notebooks Mum had used when she’d attended Hogwarts. The only thing that had been missing was the vile filled with the shiny stuff Ariel couldn’t make sense of. She supposed that was okay, for now, and she hadn’t had a chance to ask Dumbledore because, unlike his promise about the trunk, he hadn’t kept his promise about seeing her again. Ariel supposed that was alright — Dumbledore was a busy man, after all, and she wasn’t nearly as important as running a whole entire school.

She was flipping through her Potions textbook idly when Hermione finally came out of the bathroom, looking frustrated. There was no doubt it was her hair again. She pretended like she didn’t care about it, but Ariel knew it bothered her. Her own hair wasn’t much better. It was longer than it had been when she left the Dursleys, but not by much — it came just passed her chin now. Malfoy had taken to calling her Red Cap, which Ariel hadn’t really cared much about until she’d seen a picture of one.

“Are you ready?” Hermione asked, smoothing her hair with her hands in an attempt to flatten it. It didn’t matter what she did, it was always about twice the size of Ariel’s own. She tied it back with a rubber band (she’d broken countless), wincing at the pull.

“I’m not going.” Ariel answered automatically. She tried to ignore the uncomfortable pit growing in her stomach as she picked up her potions textbook. Ariel liked Potions very much — she was rather good at them, actually, a whole lot better than flying — and it was the only textbook that really interested her. Well, she shouldn’t say _that,_ Ariel loved every aspect of magic, it was just that for the first time ever, a class came fairly easily to her. Hermione had read through all the textbooks at least two times already, but Ariel still had higher marks than her in Snape’s class.

Thinking of Snape made Ariel feel like her brain was in a vice.

When he’d brought her to Hogwarts back in July, he’d simply left her with Madam Pomfrey, and then, Ariel hadn’t seen him again until term started, which had annoyed her quite a bit. Hagrid said he’d probably gone home for the rest of the holiday, which annoyed her for a reason she couldn’t help but think was ridiculous. When Ariel searched for him at the Welcoming Feast she had instantly regretted it. Snape had nearly taken off her upper half with the force of his glare, which was more than enough to make her avoid his gaze until his first Potions class, where he’d given her another one of those awful, hateful glares and moved on, never once acknowledging her existence in his class, or anywhere else, really. Ariel had sat through the first several Potions classes waiting for Snape to tell everyone about the Dursleys and the cupboard and all the really stupid things she’d said on their front stoop, but he never did. He attacked everyone else (especially Neville) but her.

Snape was a weird bloke, Ariel had deduced, and she was okay with never speaking to him again if _he_ was.

Back in the present, Hermione swiped the textbook off the bed, demanding Ariel’s attention.“What? What do you mean? We _have_ to go!”

“Professor McGonagall said it was optional.” Professor McGonagall had also given her a pitying look when she’d asked, but hadn’t pushed for the reason. They’d both known what it was. Ariel reached for the book again, but Hermione held it up higher and away from her hands.

“Ariel, it’s your first Halloween here… it’s a tradition.” She frowned when Ariel only huffed in annoyance, “What is it? What’s wrong?”

Ariel hesitated. She didn’t know if she wanted to tell her. It wasn’t like Hermione didn’t know — _everyone_ knew — but feelings were different then a fact, and Hermione relied very heavily on those.

Hermione’s face fell, when she didn’t answer. “Do you not want to go with me?”

“What? NO!” Ariel said, a little too loudly, causing her friend to jump in surprise. “Hermione, that’s not it at all! I just… I don’t feel like it, is all. I _really_ want to go with you!”

Her face smoothed over, like she believed Ariel, who gave a sigh of relief. “Then what is it?” Hermione dropped the book on the bed, and plopped down beside her with a huff. “You can tell me anything, you know.”

Ariel swallowed painfully, fighting against the lump forming in her throat. She wanted to be a good friend, and friends told each other things, didn’t they? She didn’t want to keep Hermione from the Feast, but maybe if she explained why she couldn’t make herself go, at least for this year, maybe Hermione wouldn’t be upset.

“It’s _Halloween.”_ Ariel said pointedly, hoping Hermione would know what that meant. She knew _everything._

To Ariel’s disappointment, Hermione’s brown eyes only blinked at her in confusion.

She took a deep breath, and in a very quiet voice, said: “Tonight's the night that my parents died.”

Ariel could see when something went _click_ in Hermione’s head. It made her stomach lurch forward as a cold breeze slid against her spine. “I wanted to spend tonight alone.” Ariel continued as Hermione’s eyes softened in comprehension, “Kind of in honor of them, I guess. It doesn’t feel right going to the Feast. I didn’t know when they died, or _how_ they died for a really long time. I just wanted to be alone with them tonight since I’ve missed it before.” 

Hermione squeezed her hand. “You were going to do it alone? You shouldn’t have to be all by yourself.” 

“Well, where else can I go that’s quiet?” Ariel paused. _“Don’t_ say the library.”

“How about the Astronomy Tower?” Hermione’s eyes searched hers — _don’t push me away._ Ariel found herself doing that, inadvertently sometimes.

She stared at Hermione, trying to fight the stringing behind her eyes. “You don’t have to —”

“We could… I have some candles! We could light them… make something out of it, maybe? The sky is nice enough tonight too.” Hermione said, giving her a smile. “What do you think?”

Ariel's eyes were shining with unspoken gratitude and a sadness that she had always known, but had never shared. “But the Feast —”

“It’s not worth going to if you’re not there.” Hermione said, very matter-of-factly.

She pressed her palm into hers — Hermione’s hands were still damp from the sink. “What about Ron? He’ll be there all alone…”

“He’ll be fine.” she waved at thought like it was an annoying bug as she stood. “He’s got Seamus and all the food he could possibly eat.”

Ariel grimaced, but didn’t argue. She felt bad, leaving Ron out, but sometimes she wondered if he was only her friend because she’d shown up on his doorstep. He’d been acting odd since Ariel had met Hermione, and she didn’t know why. They were _always_ bickering, and it made Ariel feel bad, because while Ron wasn’t exactly the nicest to Hermione sometimes, his family _had_ taken her in. It wasn’t the same, though. Hermione had been the first person she’d told about the Dursley’s.

When Hermione finally reappeared, she was holding a wicker basket filled with already half-used candles. She looked incredibly disappointed, like she’d been told that Christmas had been canceled.

“I thought I’d brought them up here with me.” She sighed, sifting through them, as if there would be brand new ones at the bottom. “The Prefects must have the good ones, but they’re in their quarters… and I don’t think finding out would be such a good idea.”

“They’ll do just fine.” Ariel grabbed her arm. “Let’s go, before the Feast lets out. You said the Astronomy Tower, right?”

Hermione nodded. “There’s an alcove on the stairs up that has a great view of the grounds. There’s enough room to sit and stuff.”

“Perfect.”

* * *

Severus found himself more irritable than usual this Halloween, and he suspected it probably had to do with the fact that Dumbledore was being more meddlesome than usual.

Hagrid was late, spitting out apologies left and right as he stumbled to his seat, nearly knocking over half the food in the process. Severus stifled the urge to slam his head against the table until he did enough brain damage to leave. He hated this fucking holiday, and he hated that he was being forced to be here.

It was because of Hagrid that Severus found himself seated in-between Dumbledore and Minerva, which was a place he actively avoided. Minerva on her own was manageable, but the two of them together made Severus want to stick a fork through his eyeball. They’d made him take the open seat between them (which he suspected they’d done on person) in order to leave the last seat at the end of the High Table for Hagrid, who had single handedly ruined (or, at the very least, made it a thousand times more abhorrent) his night.

They were discussing Hermione Granger, who was Severus’ almost least favorite subject since term had started.

“The girl can’t be satiated.” Minerva was telling Dumbledore. “I give her twelve inches for an essay, and she hands in forty-eight. Most of them are questions. I haven’t seen this much enthusiasm since… I don’t even know, Albus. She’s unparalleled.”

Dumbledore’s eyes twinkled in delight — he loved discussing the unmarked potential of the cretins. “High marks, then?”

“The highest in the class.” Minerva said, like he should have known that already. “Granted, it’s only been a few weeks, but sweet Salazar, if she keeps this up, her future has no bounds. A brilliant child indeed! She might be the finest witch this school has ever seen, and in Gryffindor, no less.”

This was a direct comment for Severus to respond to. He decided to send them both a disgusted, sideways glare instead. Granger was slowly becoming the bane of his educational existence. It was true, what Minerva had said — she overcompensated, but for what, Severus had yet to gauge. Severus _wished_ she only handed in forty-eight inches — the least he’d gotten was sixty. He’d started taking marks off for every extra five inches the girl tacked on.

“She’s obnoxious, and a know-it-all.” Severus said, trying to murder his baked potato, which he had yet to touch. “I find her enthusiasm annoying, at best. She calls out when she’s not called upon. She’s _constantly_ lecturing those around her, especially Weasley.”

Minerva frowned, seemingly offended that Severus wasn’t giving Granger a glowing recommendation. “Weasley could stand to listen to her. The boy doesn’t apply himself… you could say the same for the twins. Brilliant, the pair of them, but it’s like pulling teeth trying to get an essay out of them.”

“It’s not just Weasley.” Severus grouched, his head throbbing as he recalled her voice in his class prattling on and on and _on._ “It’s Evans too.”

He realized the trap he’d fallen into as the words left his mouth. Dumbledore smiled, raising his goblet to his lips, a look of satisfaction on his face. It made Severus’ blood boil. He dropped his fork and shot daggers at him, silently trying to force him not to go through with what he was undoubtedly about to ask.

“And what do you think of Miss Evans, Severus?” he asked, his blue eyes alight with genuine, sparkling curiosity.

What did he think of Miss Evans indeed. Well, for one, the girl no longer looked feral. Pomfrey and the Weasleys had done a fine job of seeing to that. Lily-thing was quiet, soft-spoken, and didn’t ask questions, but he wasn’t going to tell Dumbledore that, even if it was wholly uninteresting in theory. When the girl had walked into the Great Hall for the Sorting, he’d caught her searching, dark eyes landing on him, recognition lighting them up. For a terrifying second, Severus had thought the girl was going to _wave,_ and so, he’d struck her down with a look so fierce that he’d seen those around her cower. She’d done the same, which was very un-Potter like. No, he’d rather keel over and die right there than let the old codger know he had _any_ sort of opinion about the brat. Severus didn’t give a shit about the girl anymore, he was here to make sure she didn’t jump out of anymore sodding windows.

In closing, Miss Evans has gone from being the girl in the cupboard to the girl under the Sorting Hat, and now she was a passing face in a sea of dunderheaded children. Severus honestly knew very little, because he kept it this way, thanks to his avoidance of Dumbledore. He knew the girl was friends with Granger and the newest Weasley twerp, and that Draco Malfoy enjoyed getting a rise out of her. That hadn’t been surprising at all — Severus knew why, and it most likely had nothing to do with the fundamentally different personalities… well, not yet, at any rate. Draco was the center of his parents’ universe, and his own, for that matter. This was the first time his orbit was being overshadowed by another. Lily-thing was the newest celebrity, and seemingly well-liked. Draco was neither of those things.

Severus scoured the Great Hall, stopping at the Gryffindor table when he noticed Weasley was poking at his plate, sulking — alone.

Lily-thing and Granger were missing.

That had never happened before. They were always there — Snape knew this because he’d been watching the little monster. Dumbledore was convinced someone was after the Philosopher's Stone, and having the Girl-Who-Lived waltzing around the bloody school was sure to create problems. Dumbledore wouldn’t admit it, but Severus was almost positive that he thought the two were somehow related. He’d broken his silent treatment to Dumbledore to discuss the Stone and where it was to be held because of it. He’d been so angry after leaving the girl with Pomfrey that he’d gone to Spinner’s End and disconnected the Floo network until the week before school started. Severus knew that if Dumbledore wanted to, he could have Apparated there, or sent an Owl or a Patronus, but he suspected that the old man had been equally as rattled by Lily-thing’s Muggle upbringing. 

He did not want to remember Lily on this night. Memories warmed you up from the inside, but they also tore you apart.

Severus’ eyes narrowed as he turned to Dumbledore. “I think Miss Evans is absent from the Feast.”

There was the faintest indication of a frown on Dumbledore’s face, now. Severus felt vindicated. “I’m sure they’re making their way here shortly.”

“Or she’s gotten into trouble.” Severus offered, deliberately unhelpfully. “Not unlike her father.”

Dumbledore gave him a strange glance, one that only moved the eyebrows on his face. It reminded Severus of when the tide pulled back and left behind nothing but seashells.

“On the contrary, I find her to be a very thoughtful child.” Minerva intervened. “James wasn’t nearly as deliberate at Ariel’s age.”

Severus stifled the urge to roll his eyes. The girl had jumped out of a window to get her acceptance letter, for Merlin’s sake. If that wasn’t the epitome of James fucking Potter, gift to the wizarding world, then Severus was a Hufflepuff.

“Besides,” Minerva sniffed, sending Severus _A Look,_ as if she were discipling him. “I spoke with Miss Evans earlier today. She asked if her attendance was mandatory… she expressed wanting to spend her time elsewhere, tonight.”

“And you told her _yes.”_ Severus gave her a doubtful scowl. He didn’t know why this bothered him — he tried to tell himself that it didn’t. If Lily-thing didn’t want to participate in school activities, why should he care?

He didn’t.

Dumbledore seemed intrigued by this new information. “Did she say why, Minerva?”

Her lips pursed together in a tight line. “I would suspect it would have to do with another event many of us celebrated several years ago.”

Severus nearly dropped his fork. Dumbledore bowed his head in acknowledgment, while Minerva took a long, drawn out sip of the Elvish wine in her goblet. Thankfully, it was then that the doors to the Great Hall swung open. The students all fell silent, obviously startled, as Quirrell came bounding into their midst. He ran as though someone had set his robes on fire.

“TROLL IN THE DUNGEONS!” Quirrell shrieked. “Thought you ought to know.”

And then the idiot fainted. It was times like these where Severus considered _not_ having the Defense position a personal insult. He turned to Dumbledore, who, despite being the oldest person in the room, certainly looked the most powerful. He boomed out a command to the Prefects, who scurried to collect their Houses and escort them back to their dorms for the evening. Hagrid barrelled up again, looking a bit disappointed as he stared longingly at the full plate of food in front of him.

“Minerva, you will help me secure the Stone.” Dumbledore said sharply, drawing his wand. “Severus, I’d like for you to assist Pomona and Filius and then meet us. Make the students’ safety your top priority. I doubt a troll would pose any sort of threat to the Stone, but we must be vigilant.”

He didn’t need to tell Severus twice — a troll entering the school wasn’t exactly unheard of, but the timing was… suspicious.

There was a girl missing, in the meantime.

* * *

Ariel and Hermione made a beeline for the Astronomy Tower staircase, which was very long, and very high up. She didn’t mind the walk, though, the late-fall air felt good on her clammy skin. She was nervous, because tonight, with Hermione here, she was going to do it.

She was going to read that letter.

There was a whole slew of reasons why she hadn’t done it yet, but most of them were stupid, silly, and sounded like Aunt Petunia when Ariel said them out loud. She’d wanted to rip open the letter the second she’d landed at Hogwarts, after Madam Pomfrey had made her drink potions that tasted like old socks and toenails, but something had stopped her, the same thing that had stopped her from following Snape off the Dursley’s front stoop. Sure, tonight Ariel genuinely _did_ want to spend it remembering her Mum and Dad — she thought they deserved some sort of commemoration since they had, in fact, died this very night. It changed the whole holiday for Ariel, really. She didn’t see how after learning about everything, she could simply pretend that Halloween wasn’t a marker for something else.

When they hit the third twist in the stairs, Hermione stopped, gesturing to a small alcove just a few paces to their right. “Is this okay?”

Ariel gave a small smile. “It’s great, Hermione. Do you think the candles will be okay with the wind and all?”

“Well, we’ll find out.” Hermione said, setting down the basket. “There’s been a neat Charm I’ve been wanting to try anyway — it keeps them from going out. Professor Flitwick taught it to me the other day when I stayed after class to ask a question about… oh, I don’t even know what it was about —”

She started to ramble about schoolwork as they both set up, lining the ledge with mostly-used-candles as Ariel offered quiet “mhm’s,” and “yeah you’re right’s.” She felt bad pretending to listen, but she was wondering how she was going to start a conversation about her dead mother’s secret letter when the current topic was about Transfiguration. It was getting chillier, too. Ariel shivered as she settled against the ledge, wishing she’d brought that jumper with her (whether it was hers or not). Part of her wish she _had_ brought Ron, because unlike Hermione, he could be blunt when he needed to be. He would’ve started bickering with Hermione once she started talking about school, and the awkward silence after would’ve given Ariel the perfect opportunity to bring it up. Sometimes, Ariel didn’t know what to do with Hermione’s sincerity, her innate attention to detail, and it made her feel small.

The candles flickered, the wicks dimming as the conversation did the same. Ariel let her gaze drift from Hermione and to the grounds far below them, grinning as she watched Hagrid barrelling up towards the school, obviously late for the Feast. She tried to imagine her parents walking those same grounds, maybe out by the lake, or where she and Hermione were sitting right now.

“I think it looks nice.” said Hermione, who’s Charm had worked on the candles. She gave a satisfied little smile. “Do you like it?”

Ariel nodded, not knowing how to say that the candles didn’t matter so much as Hermione being here did. “It’s brilliant, Mione. Thank you. You really didn’t have to —”

“I _wanted_ to be here.” Hermione inched a couple of paces closer to her. “I think it’s… I think they’d be proud. Touched.”

She didn’t want to think about what her parents could have felt. It was strange to miss someone, but projecting about how they would’ve felt about something was almost more painful than the missing itself. Ariel wanted them here more than anything, some days. For a long time, she’d thought that the thing she wanted most was to leave the Dursleys. She’d daydreamed about her parents coming to get her… and while Professor Dumbledore and Snape definitely weren’t what she’d had in mind in this fantasy, she was still incredibly grateful that _someone_ had come.

She supposed she owed that to her parents too, in a way.

“No one talks about them.” said Ariel, bringing her knees to her chin. “About Mum and Dad. It’s like… like how no one says Voldemort’s name. Ron’s mum knew them, but when I asked her she got this funny look on her face, like… like she was trying to to cry. I didn’t even think they were that close. Even Dumbledore, when he came to my aunt and uncle’s… he seemed so sad when he told me what happened.” 

Hermione stared at the stone floor, like she was debating on whether or not to share her thoughts. “My grandparents died when I was really little, so I don’t remember them at all. I asked my mum about them, for a school project we were doing, and she got all upset. My dad said it’s because they knew them, and it’s… difficult to talk through the pain of their memory. It’s different for me and you, because we didn’t know them the same way others did. It’s awful that you didn’t, but you don’t miss them the same way.”

The wind howled, interrupting Ariel’s next thought. The treetops in the distance shook and trembled, like an audience watching their conversation, eager to know where it was headed.

“I have to tell you something.” she said to Hermione, trying to put on her best Gryffindor-face, and failing. She was shaking like the trees. “My Mum left me a letter.”

Hermione’s eyebrows furrowed. “What kind of letter?”

“I don’t know. I found it in her trunk when Professor Dumbledore and Snape came to my aunt and uncle’s. The trunk in our dorm is my mum’s, and before Professor Dumbledore took it, I found a letter inside.”

“Did Professor Dumbledore —”

“He doesn’t know I took it.” Ariel felt awfully bad about this, but it was, after all, _her_ letter.

Hermione frowned. “What if it had something to do with You-Know-Who?”

“It has _my_ name on it, so Mum _wanted_ me to read it.” Ariel bit her lip. “I just… I haven’t built up the nerve to do it. I don’t know why, I feel so silly.”

She did know why. She was petrified that if she opened this letter, it was going to be something she didn’t want to know. After everything that had happened, she had no real reason to feel that way. Somehow, she was scared that this letter would make her feel worse, and she’d _just_ started to finally sort through all the Parents-Murdered-By-Evil-Wizard business.

“Do you want me to read it with you?” Hermione asked softly. “If it’ll make you feel better… I wouldn’t mind at all.”

Ariel hesitated. “I… don’t know. I think so.”

“We don’t have to do this tonight —”

“No,” she interrupted. “I have to, or else, I’m never gonna have the nerve to do it again.”

Before Hermione could argue, Ariel reached into her robes, unfolding the letter. She’d been very careful to keep good care of it, and had been keeping it under her mattress all these months. She even checked on it every night before she went to bed to make sure it was still there. Hermione scooted closer, tracing Ariel’s name with her fingertips.

“She had nice handwriting.”

Ariel felt hot and cold all over as she unfolded the letter with trembling hands, Hermione’s chin coming to rest on her shoulder. It was dated 4 December, 1980.

* * *

_My Ariel,_

_I must have rewritten this letter a thousand times for you by now, because you deserve for it to be perfect. I’m afraid it won’t ever be, and I’m starting to think there is no perfect way to tell you the truth. I hope that you won’t need this letter, and I can tell you myself, or maybe what I’m about to say has always been your life, for as long as you can remember. I hope you can forgive me for not giving you that, if you’re reading this without me there._

_James and I are in hiding, waiting to hear from the Order. I hope you know what that means, and why it was so important to us. If I’m not here, with you, then I can only begin to imagine why, but I know that it must have something to do with Voldemort. He wants you, my sweet girl, and I will not let him take you, no matter what the cost. If you’re here, and I am not, then I’ve done what I need to do to protect you. Please know that there is no life living if you’re gone and I’m not. I’m sorry I’m not there. I’m sorry._

_What I have to tell you is not out of regret. I’m worried that if I’m not there, that you don’t know at all, and the only thing worse than not being there is you having to read this letter and find out the truth all by yourself. You are not alone, Ariel. You are so loved, even if you don’t necessarily feel that way after hearing this. I hope you can forgive me for not being there, and if you don’t already know, for the lie you’ve believed until now._

_James is not your biological father. Your father’s name is Severus, and it’s for his own protection that I’m keeping this a secret. James is the only other person that knows, and now, my sweet girl, you do too. Severus doesn’t even know. I don’t know if he’ll ever know, which is why I’m telling you, because you deserve that much from me. You have a right to know where you came from, and so does Severus, if all is well._

_James and I dated our last two years at Hogwarts, and when we left, I decided that I wanted to give all my energy into the Order, to the fight against Voldemort. He had proposed, and I couldn’t find it in me to say yes. Not then, at least. I hope you're old enough to understand such things, but I do love James, very much so, but in my eyes, I had my whole life ahead of me for marriage. At the time, it was not clear whether or not there would be a life to live if Voldemort won. So I told James no, and that when we did marry, it would be in a world that was free of this darkness. It’s everywhere, Ariel, and growing by the day. I hope you live in a world free of him, without fear of his name, and what he is capable of. Hope has been hard to find, these days. The Order is losing, badly, and without James and I to help, I don’t know what’s going to happen._

_James and I went our separate ways for a time, only seeing each other during Order meetings. Severus had chosen a different path. We were friends in school — my dearest and best friend. We had a falling out our fifth year, and I never spoke to him again, because he wanted to join the Death Eaters, and he did. I wasn’t sure, for a long time, if he’d truly gone and done so, but I saw him during my first battle with the Order. He saved my life. That was when I met Severus, again. I ran into him at Hogsmeade one night, and I asked — no, demanded — that he tell me why, because it had been eating away at me ever since. And he did._

_When James found out I was pregnant, he insisted that I marry him then, if only to protect me and you from a world that hates Muggleborn witches. He is a good man, a good father to you. He’s holding you right now, feeding you a bottle in the kitchen. He loves you like you’re his own._

_Severus remembers nothing, and that is by his own volition. He asked me to Obliviate him, and I only did it because he threatened to do so himself. There was no relationship that could be built, even after a night of talking, of learning things I didn’t know, and wish I had. I know Severus would never harm me, or even you, for that matter, even if he does not remember the last time we met. I pray he is still alive, because even though I’ve lost him twice now, you should still be afforded the privilege to know him. Dumbledore told me he’s joined the Order as a spy. I don’t know when, but it’s impossible for Severus to know anything about you. The only ones who know are James and I, and I’ve made him swear an Unbreakable Vow to never tell a soul._

_I don’t regret you, or seeing Severus, for that matter, for a single second. Please know that. Keep it close to you, always. You are my greatest gift, my high point, and you are so loved._

_Have some fire. Be unstoppable. Be a force of nature. Be better, and don’t give a damn what anyone thinks. I love you endlessly, and forever. Never forget that._

_Mum_

* * *

The letter seemed too short — too final. Ariel wanted more. She wanted to rip open the letter and climb inside her mother’s words, to ask a million more questions and learn a million more things. There were words crossed out, the handwriting wobbly and smudged in places. She tried to understand what that meant, but she couldn’t right now. It was like a person trying to touch a ghost and getting nothing but air.

Severus. That was Snape’s first name. That’s what Dumbledore had called him in Aunt Petunia’s house. This _couldn’t_ have been the same Severus her mum had been talking about, the one who was her _real_ father. Snape had sworn at her, called her a brat, and then destroyed half of Aunt Petunia’s house with magic. Snape ignored her and looked at her like he wanted her to drop dead on the spot. Snape hated her. Snape hated _everyone._

 _He knew Petunia, though,_ said a small, annoyingly helpful voice, _he talked about her as if he’d known her._

Ariel was going to be sick. She did not like this (she did, she love that horrible stupid amazing wonderful letter) and she did not like the fact that now, _she_ was the only one who knew. Once you knew a thing, you could never unknow it.

Except Snape had. Snape had made himself forget, or her mum had, because he wanted to.

She had forgotten Hermione was there until she started shaking her.

“Ariel?” There were fresh tears in her eyes. “Ariel, say something!”

She didn’t know what to say. There was nothing she could say that would be right, nothing that could convey what was going through her head. The voice whispering in the midst of the hurricane inside her mind raged, told her to do something, to _yell scream cry beg laugh —_

“Did you know?” Hermione croaked.

“What?” Ariel found herself forcing out. “No! Of course not! If I had known, I would’ve —”

She didn’t know what she would’ve done. Snape hated her, or at the very least, _strongly_ disliked her. He hated everyone, except maybe Professor Dumbledore, but even that was debatable. She would’ve asked to have her memory wiped, like Snape had. She would never have read this letter. She would have kept it in the trunk for the Headmaster to read. But if he had read it… would he have told Snape —

_No no no no no_

“This has to be some kind of joke.” Hermione grabbed the letter out of her hands, smoothing her fingers over it, like it was ancient text she was preparing to decode. “This can’t be right…”

Ariel couldn’t feel her lips anymore. There were stars in her vision, stars that sparkled like her mother’s eyes, sparkled like the laugh in her face and cheeks, sparkles like the fairy lights in her parents’ wedding picture, sparkles on the Christmas tree where she, the baby, had sat. She’d searched those pictures and stared at her father, wondering what she’d inherited. Not the face, the hair, the freckles, the smile that was higher on her right than her left. It was all coming together inside her head, a sonic boom so great that when it hit, even though she knew it was coming, she was not prepared.

The eyes — _her_ eyes — the first eyes she’d seen into this magic world —

She did not hear Hermione calling her name when she started to run.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note: Well, I warned you there'd be a time jump!
> 
> In my head, I've considered these first three chapters as sort of an introduction to the story, like a prelude. For the rest of the story, which will end at the conclusion of first year, the goal is to finally start telling it.
> 
> Reviews are very much appreciated. Thank you for all the kind words last chapter. x


	4. trolling

The school had gone eerily silent, and not the kind of quiet Severus relished during the summer months. This was something different, something that put him further on edge as he glided through the corridors, searching for anything amiss. There wasn’t (surprise, surprise) and Severus felt himself growing more and more agitated. Quirrell was about as useless as a wet tissue, he decided on, tucking that thought away for later when Dumbledore tried to bring up the Defense position. He didn’t know what it was, but Severus often thought about Hexing that ridiculous turban straight off of Quirrell’s head. It felt like bitterness, but Severus knew what that really felt like, and this was not it.

It was the quiet that settled before an attack, he decided on. He remembered this feeling during the war, when he’d been walking through Diagon Alley. The crowd thinned suddenly, like sand running through an hourglass. It had gone silent, and then, before he’d known it, the Order was descending on him and Yaxley. Luckily, they’d had a Portkey, but it had been a close call, and Severus couldn’t help but wonder if it had been Potter who’d given them the tip. Potter and his cronies hadn’t known that Severus had been a Death Eater, no, but Lily and Potter had certainly had their suspicions. She’d make _that_ abundantly clear during their final years at Hogwarts.

Perhaps that was why Lily’s daughter was such an enigma. She was in Severus’ opinion anyway, and that was the only one that mattered to him. He couldn’t find that ferocity Lily had, or the defiance Potter radiated in their child. Not that he was looking for either, but it was like the girl tried to shrink herself whenever she entered his classroom, only looking towards his desk to glance at the board with wide, nervous eyes. She looked just like Lily, a little carbon-copy of her as a child, which was incredibly unnerving, but Severus couldn’t tell what she was yet, but she did have seven years of schooling left. He hated her for existing, but he couldn’t say that he hated her personally just yet. It differed from Severus’ hatred of her father — _that_ sort of loathing was a tie that was binding.

Tonight’s little stunt was the first of many. He was sure of it, even if it had _somewhat_ good intentions.

It was Peeves who scared the living daylights out of Severus while he reminisced. Minerva bringing up Godric’s Hollow was enough to sour his mood for the remainder of the evening (and week). With the added stress of a troll in the dungeons and the sudden disappearance of the Girl-Who-Lived, he was a ticking time bomb when Peeves finally set him off. He knocked a full suit of armor into him, which he just managed to dodge as Peeves floated up to the ceiling like a balloon, cackling wildly.

 _“Jesus_ fucking —” Severus shot a unnamed Curse that Dumbledore would have read him the riot act for at him. “I’m going to have you exorcised, do you know that? There’s a petition in Dumbledore’s office.”

Peeves laughed maniacally, flashing Severus a grin that was far too wide. “Silly Snape, snapping Snapely along. No troll hunting for Snape tonight!”

“Did _you_ let it in?” Severus snarled.

“Who?” Peeves feigned shock, placing an offended hand over his mouth. _“Me?_ Never in my life!”

“You’re dead,” his eyes flickered to the corridor behind Peeves. “in case you forgot, and if you _did_ let a troll into this school, the Headmaster will banish you himself.”

Peeves sombered at this, but that jeering light in his eyes didn’t dim, not even a little. “I would never, honorable professor never-done-anything-wrong snippy Snape sir!”

“Piss off, then.” Severus threw behind him, itching to shoot another Hex at the phantom.

“Snape stalking students! Snape stalking students!”

“Students?” Severus’ eyes narrowed as he whirled back around. _“Which_ students? They’re all supposed to be —”

“Ol’ Voldy Moldys little friend, the carrot-top! Pretty little carrot-top firsty!”

 _Lily-thing._ He was going to make her regret ever skipping a meal when he got his hands on her. Just as he was about to demand that Peeves tell him where they were, the insufferable poltergeist let out another howl of laughter, plunging himself through the wall. Severus swore, kicking the helmet of the knight Peeves had nearly killed him with. He scoured the corridor for any sign of an intruder, for anything _suspicious_ , when he heard his (new) least favorite voice yelling.

“Ariel!” Granger was shouting, a desperation in it that tugged Severus in their direction. “Ariel, _WAIT!”_

Of course it was Lily-thing _and_ the Know-It-All — he’d nearly forgotten that Granger was with her. Severus was annoyed it was he who had found them, because on tonight of all nights, he did _not_ want to deal with Lily’s daughter, but he supposed that this was far better than the troll finding them instead. 

“HEY — WAIT!”

Severus frowned. Something was wrong — was Evans running from Granger? He’d never seen them so much as frown at one another in class. _That_ was usually reserved for Weasley.

(he’d told himself that the girl missing didn’t bother him, but he was nowhere near the dungeons)

He could hear footsteps slamming against stone — two pairs — and breathless gasping. He drew his wand, tensing as he briskly glided towards the noise, Granger’s panicked pleading echoing down the darkened corridor. Not to mention that the little idiots were going to get themselves _stepped on_ if they found that mountain troll before the staff did.

“Ariel — _ARIEL!”_

Someone came flying out of the darkness, and smashed right into him.

It knocked the breath out of him for a minute as he fell backwards, something toppling into him. He could feel a knee digging into his ribcage as he quickly recovered, recognizing that blasted wine-red hair as her head lifted to meet his gaze. Lily-thing gaped up at him in — horror? It was something bone-chilling, and it might have startled Severus if he hadn’t immediately been overcome with rage.

Lily-thing scrambled off of him as Severus reached to grab the little monster, intent on possibly catapulting her out of the nearest window. She skittered back, like a cockroach when exposed to light. Her expression stopped him from saying a word. She stared at him, her chest heaving, with a look of pure fear, like she was seeing him for the first time. He stared back, trying to make sense of her expression, of the panicked, caged look twisting her face, trying to label it as her reaction to mowing him down, but he couldn’t. There was something unreachable there, something he’d never seen on Lily, and didn’t think he wanted to see on her daughter’s face ever again.

Before Severus could register what was happening, Lily-thing scrambled to her feet, and took off without a single word. It was then that Severus saw Granger fly by, her bushy hair a tangled mess.

“Sorry, Professor!” Granger squeaked out. “We’re sorry!”

Severus sat there, bewildered, as their footsteps faded away. He was rattled by that haunted look, of the quiet desperation. He wondered if that’s how Lily had faced the Dark Lord, before he’d murdered her. It caused him to shudder as he pulled himself fully upright, wincing as his side ached in protest. Lily-thing was small, but she’d come at him like a Quaffle in play.

He wanted to chase after the little shits and wring their necks, but unfortunately, he had more important matters to attend to. It didn’t matter, anyway. They were heading in the direction of Gryffindor Tower, which meant a Prefect would intercept them at some point, if another professor didn’t. All Severus really cared about was managing not to break his promise within the first few months of Lily-thing being here. He was going to find them later, and he was going to make them very, _very_ sorry they’d not attended the Feast. They certainly _could_ run, but they couldn’t hide. Granger was the kind of student who would rather rip out her own fingernails then skip a class.

A candle rolled out of the shadows, resting against his foot.

Severus stared at it for a long moment and waited for the fiery rage burning behind his ribs to subside before kicking it away. He rose, letting his Shields do the same as he looked off in the direction the candle had come from. Smoke trailed from behind it, where Evans and Granger had come running like a pack of frightened hippogriffs. From the stairs, Severus could see a soft light flickering, casting unnatural shadows along the walls.

He followed it until he found where they’d been doing during the Feast.

There was a circle of them, the candles, lining the alcove about halfway up to the Astronomy Tower staircase. Half of them were knocked over, like they'd been kicked or thrown about. In the very center was a picture. Severus refused to look at it — he’d seen a glimpse when first looking down, but he couldn’t bear to see the whole thing. It was too much to admit, because even though he’d known it had happened, he couldn’t ever acknowledge the happy, smiling family waving up at him.

It was the sort of sentimental shit Lily would have done. That was the first time he’d thought that, in relation to her foolish daughter. They shared the same bleeding heart.

The space where his heart would have been suddenly felt very heavy, like there was a rock lodged in there. Wind whispered around his cloak, scratching it against the stones as the treeline rustled in the distance.

Severus pointed his wand at the picture. _“Incendio.”_

* * *

“Did — we — lose — him?” Ariel wheezed, clutching at her stomach.

Hermione nodded, taking a big gulp of air, like she’d been drowning and had only now reached the surface. “I — think — so.”

Ariel couldn’t get enough air, couldn’t get enough of the burning sensation as it rushed down her throat. It was the only feeling that mattered right now. Breathing was the first thing she’d felt since she’d open that stupid, amazing letter. She couldn’t get enough of it, couldn’t force enough air inside of her. She felt like she needed to be fumigated.

It had felt good to run. The only sensible thing. Nothing about what her mum had said made much sense, so she’d decided to get as far away from it as humanly possible for the time being.

The next thing Ariel had remembered was her nose smashing into something boney.

She had heard a deep grunt, and for a second, the overwhelming darkness felt nice, like she was finally hiding somewhere where she could be alone, just like her cupboard. She’d never thought she’d miss that miserable, dusty place, but in her mind, it was the first thing that had made sense since that letter. The cupboard was familiar, where the idea of her parents was left untouched, untainted.

And then, Ariel had looked up.

Her heart beat had tripled, as fast as a race horse. Snape’s black eyes had narrowed as they’d locked on to hers. She couldn’t look away from those eyes, those eyes that were so disturbingly familiar, because she looked at the world through those eyes every single day.

_NO NO NO NO NO —_

So Ariel had taken off, not daring to look over her shoulder. She didn’t care if Snape gave her a thousand detentions, she’d just needed to run, needed to concentrate on the stitch in her side and the burning in her lungs.

“Shouldn’t he have been at the Feast?” Ariel asked as she leaned into the sink. They’d ended up in the girl’s bathroom on the first floor, a place where, in her mind, she’d thought, _“Snape can’t follow us in here.”_ Now, that seemed like a pretty ridiculous plan, because Snape was a teacher, and he could do whatever the heck he wanted.

“I don’t know…” Hermione grimaced. “When you crashed into him —”

Oh god, she’d done that. Ariel had come around that corner, and Snape had been right _there_ and he’d given her this look… like she was about to shatter into a million pieces. Maybe she had been, she couldn’t really remember much after that. Her brain had been screaming. Ariel could only imagine what her face must have looked like. She’d never been good at hiding her emotions.

“— I didn’t hear him come after us.” Hermione finished. “You don’t think he’s hurt, do you?”

“He seemed alright, just… mad.” Ariel collapsed on the floor. “I don’t blame him.”

“You’re right though, he should’ve been at the Feast.” she wrung her hands together. “You don’t… you don’t think he could’ve… known, do you?”

Ariel shot her a panicked look. “No! Mum said she Obliviated him, that he asked her to! How _could_ he?”

“But why would he want that?”

“I don’t _know,_ maybe because he’s _Snape?”_

“Yes but…” Hermione bit her lip. “It doesn’t make much sense. I mean, she told you the truth, but there’s still a lot of stuff she didn’t say.”

She could hear the end of that sentence hanging over them, like a sword. Hermione was a factual person, Ariel had come to realize, and didn’t understand emotions, didn’t understand the way they twisted and made people lash out. She suspected that it was part of the reason Hermione and Ron had so many rows — Ron talked before he thought, and all Hermione did was think.

Mum hadn’t said anything else, because she expected… _Snape_ to tell her the rest. That was what Hermione hadn’t said, and what they were both thinking.

Ariel darted towards a stall, slamming the door shut behind her. For a minute, she thought she was going to be sick, but it passed as quickly as it had come, like a summer squall… like the one the night she’d left the Dursleys. Her heart hammered inside her chest, begging to be let out.

“Hermione,” she whispered. “he’s my dad.”

The daydream of Ariel’s parents coming to rescue her was becoming distorted. This was _not_ what she had imagined. She’d imagined loving embraces and tears… to find out they were dead was at least _final,_ because at least you could imagine and believe in someone you missed but had never known. In reality… that daydream _had_ come true, but instead of her mum and dad’s smiling, happy faces, it had been _Snape_ sneering down at her, cursing while he nearly foamed at the mouth.

And that… fit her daydream, because Snape was her _dad._ It wasn’t what she had envisioned, but it _had_ happened. He’d taken her away from the Dursleys to Hogwarts, but then he’d left her here, alone, without even saying goodbye or coming to see her again. _That_ hadn’t been part of the fantasy. Maybe Ariel was being too greedy… but did it have to be _Snape?_

Hermione didn’t say anything for a long moment. The words hung there, in the air, like cobwebs. It was making things harder to focus, the less talking they did. The stall door creaked open behind her and Hermione’s warm hand grabbed hers.

“What are you going to do?” asked Hermione.

That was a loaded question.

“He’s _awful,_ Hermione!” Ariel said, twisting her hands in her hair. “He’s mean and angry all the time, he hates Gryffindor and he hates _me.”_

“Hagrid said he doesn’t have any reason to hate you, remember?”

“He saved me from the Dursleys and now he doesn’t even look at me!”

“That doesn’t mean he _hates_ you!” Hermione knelt down on her knees in front of her. “You mum said he’d never do anything to hurt you. That means he couldn’t… not really, anyway.”

A wonderful thought bloomed, then. Ariel had a father that wasn’t dead. It didn’t feel real, because trying to connect _dad_ to _Snape_ was like trying to call a crocodile _cute,_ but she wasn’t an orphan anymore. She was… something else.

Hermione pulled her into a hug, which nearly knocked Ariel into the toilet, but she didn’t care.

“It doesn’t matter what your mum said.” Hermione said fiercely. “It doesn’t change who you are.”

Ariel wanted to believe that, and she did, in a way. She was still Ariel Evans, still too short for her age and bad at arithmetic. Nothing had _changed_ since she’d read her dead mother’s confession, but _something_ had, in the air, in the frequency she usually operated on. It was building in her chest, like a crescendo, something great and horrible, like her mum’s letter. The smudges and wobbly lines were all making sense, the fear in her words that Ariel would somehow hate her _(how could she, she would’ve done anything to have her here, anything at all)._

She knew that fear, because now, she was absolutely terrified that Snape would somehow find out. She was scared that he really did hate her, and that thought was horrible, because he was her dad, and he didn’t know.

But she did.

And only her.

And that feeling dropped to the floor like an anchor, because she’d forgotten to take the letter with her, and Snape had —

“The letter!” Ariel frantically pawed at her robes. “I _left it there!”_

“No, you didn’t.” Hermione reached into her robes, pulling it out. “It almost flew away, but I managed to snag it. Good thing too, if Professor Snape was lurking around.”

She swallowed loudly. She still wanted to throw up. Instead, she hugged Hermione again tightly, thanking any god listening that she’d had enough sense to take it, because if _Snape_ had gone up there and found it…

Ariel didn’t even want to think about it. She remembered him smashing Aunt Petunia’s china to the floor and shuddered.

Before she could tell Hermione that she was the greatest witch to have ever lived, a deafening _CRASH_ boomed through the room. Ariel nearly jumped out of her shoes as Hermione let out a shriek a soprano would’ve been impressed with. She braced herself for Snape to come barrelling in, determined to meet him and take her punishment for running him over, but instead, something even worse happened. She pushed past Hermione and out of the stall, where she found herself looking up at… a Huge-Ugly _Thing_ with an equally sized wooden _club._

Ariel tried to say Hermione’s name, but she couldn’t.

They both screamed.

The Huge-Ugly Thing hollered right back, swinging it’s club wildly. Hermione tugged on Ariel’s arm, pulling her into one of the stalls. She slammed the door shut, a fresh layer of panic on her face.

“What _is_ it?” Ariel whispered, like The Thing didn’t know where they were.

“It’s a troll.” Hermione hissed back, her eyes welling up with fresh tears. “It’s not supposed to be in the school!”

“Well yeah, I would _hope so,_ Hermione!”

The troll roared again, smashing it’s club against the mirrors. Ariel and Hermione held their hands over their ears as they shattered in succession. Their hands went to their mouths once it had quieted to try and stifle their breathing.

A meek _creeeak_ came from the door.

“Who’s in here?” a voice called, a mixture of scared and frustrated. Ariel recognized that voice.

 _“Ron?”_ Hermione shrieked.

There was a long, stunned pause.

“WHAT ARE YOU DOING IN HERE?” Ron shouted. “THE LOO WAS MEANT FOR THE _TROLL —”_

The troll roared and advanced, barrelling towards the bathroom door towards Ron, who had undoubtedly startled it. Ariel jerked open the stall, blindly grasping for Hermione’s hand. She pulled her forward with such force that it was a wonder she didn’t pop her arm out of it’s socket.

 _“RUN!”_ Ariel yelled as the door to the bathroom went flying off its hinges, slamming against the wall adjacent to where Ariel could see now Ron was standing.

The troll’s mean little eyes stared at them, hesitating in the bathroom doorway. Ariel looked around wildly before her eyes landed on something, staring at it until Hermione followed her gaze. There was a metal pipe laying beside the shattered door. She shot forward, grabbing the pipe and flew back to Hermione’s side.

“Now what?” Ariel asked, chest heaving.

Nothing but the stench of troll and labored breathing filled the tense silence. The troll’s nostrils flared as it finally stomped out of the doorway and turned its back on Ariel and Hermione so it could round on Ron.

“You’ve _got_ to be kidding me.” Ariel muttered under her breath.

“What’re we going to do?” Hermione asked, looking around desperately.

“Get ready to run, is what.” Ariel answered, stepping forward and throwing her arm holding the metal pipe back in preparation, “ _OY!_ PEA BRAIN!”

The troll turned its head, as though she was suddenly a side thought, and Ariel chucked the pipe at it’s back. It hit him square in the shoulder, but if anything, her yell seemed to have affected it more than the hit. It’s ugly snout turned back towards her as Hermione yelled another _“RUN!”_ at Ron, who was now blocked from view. That only seemed to drive the troll more berzerk. It roared again and started towards them. Ariel grabbed the sleeve of Hermione’s robes, and they began to skitter backwards.

And then Ron did something that Ariel couldn’t figure out if she thought was very smart or very stupid — he must have taking a great, running jump, for suddenly, he was dangling around the troll’s neck and shoving his wand up his nose. Ariel’s jaw dropped at the sight as the troll howled and twisted in pain. The club was flailing about dangerously, and for a terrible moment, she was quite sure that it was going to hit him or one of them, for the troll had stomped forward, and they had barely moved.

“Ron, get _off!”_ Hermione cried. “You’re going to hurt yourself.”

“Well, this wouldn’t have happened if you had BEEN AT THE FEAST!” Ron roared back.

Ariel recovered more quickly, a mad (completely mental, actually) thought crossing her mind. Taking a few steps forward, she shouted. _“Wingardium Leviosa!”_

The club flew out of the troll’s hand, flying high into the air, and then dropped with a sickening crack onto its own head, falling to the ground with a thud that nearly sent Ariel and Hermione falling over themselves. Ron rolled off the troll’s back, visibly shaking, as Ariel and Hermione shot forward.

“Are you alright, mate?” Ariel asked as Ron leaned his hands on his knees.

“Right as rain.” he replied with a shaky laugh, “Thanks, Ariel. I thought he’d throw me off for sure.”

“What were you _doing? You_ put him in here?”

“NO!” Ron went white as a sheet. “Professor Quirrell came running into the Feast to warn us about the troll! I knew you guys weren’t there so I went looking for you… how long do you two _take_ in the loo?”

A sudden slamming and loud footsteps made the three of them look up. It was then Ariel realized the terrible racket they must have been making, between the crashes and roars and screams and prayed like hell that Snape —

_Please no no no no no_

The first thing she saw was the inky black hair and the concentrated scowl and suddenly, the troll’s smell wasn’t the only thing making her feel sick. Professor McGonagall was right behind him, followed closely by Hagrid, who bent down to look at the fallen troll.

“What in Merlin’s name —” Ariel had never seen Professor McGonagall look so furious, lips white and eyes piercing. “What are _you three_ doing here? You’re supposed to be with your _Houses!”_

Her face didn’t hold a candle to how Snape looked. Ariel saw Ron and Hermione cringe away from him, even though it was Professor McGonagall who was shouting. Snape had both hands clenched tightly at his sides, teeth bared, and a vein pulsing violently in his forehead.

Ron and Hermione looked at Ariel, who was opening and closing her mouth like a fish. “We uh… we um…” Ariel’s eyes darted about, trying to avoid the glares and imploring eyes that had all landed on her at once. “We… well…”

“Please, Professor!” Hermione cried suddenly, giving Ariel momentary relief as everyone looked at her instead. “We came here to use the loo when the troll wandered inside! It cornered us —”

“Yeah!” Ron jumped in, nodding along, like he liked what he was hearing. “I knew Ariel and Hermione weren’t at the Feast, so I came looking. I saw the troll go into the girl’s bathroom, and then I heard them screaming… I had to help! I just couldn’t _leave_ them!”

Snape’s ice cold glare had turned burning hot, but he still had yet to utter a single word.

“And then the troll tried attacking _him.”_ Ariel cut in. “We had to do _something.”_

“You could have been smashed to smithereens!” Professor McGonagall said a brittle voice, heavy under the weight of her fury. “What in Merlin’s name were you all thinking, taking on a full grown mountain troll?”

The three of them exchanged a look, causing Snape to take a menacing step forward.

“With all due respect, Professor,” Hermione said. “what else were we supposed to have done?”

Ron gaped at her like some sort of sea creature. Professor McGonagall sputtered at Hermione’s words while Snape looked like he was itching to grab Ariel. She took a protective step backwards, but made sure she was still clutching Hermione’s arm.

“And we _did_ knock it out…” Ariel offered, causing Professor McGonagall’s own nostrils flare as the troll had just minutes ago. But then she did something Ariel did not expect. Professor McGonagall, instead of having steam come whistling out her ears, sighed, and clasped her hands tightly together in front of her.

“Very well.” she said in a voice that clearly said _I-condone-none-of-this._ “I suppose the circumstances were… not as they should have been. Fifteen points to Gryffindor.”

Ron beamed while Ariel and Hermione exchanged a relieved look.

And then Snape spoke.

“You two,” Sharp eyes stared both Ariel and Hermione down, a single finger beckoning them forward, “with _me.”_

Neither moved a muscle. Even Ron paled.

 _“Now!”_ Severus snapped when they did not comply. Ariel tugged at the robes that had still not left her grip, and she and Hermione fell forward to follow the billowing black mass that led the way down to the dungeons.

“Are you okay?” Hermione whispered anxiously to her as they walked, or more, _ran_ in order to keep up with Snape’s long strides. “He can’t punish us. We did nothing wrong!”

Ariel didn’t answer. She had lost all reasoning when it came to explain why Snape did the things he did. She felt the hair on the back of her neck stand up when he tugged the door to his office open, pointing to their two chairs in front of his desk wordlessly. They both sat, but they both itched to bolt from the room the second their bottoms hit the wood. The… _things_ in those creepy jars seemed to hum around them. Ariel hated it, and up until this point, she’d kinda _liked_ Potions class.

Ariel could have testified under Veritaserum that the temperature dropped in the room. Both girls looked at each other from the corners of their eyes.

“Well?” Snape snapped, “I’m _waiting.”_

Ariel wanted to smash his stupid face in, then. The shock and fear was slowly sliding off of her, like rain on a roof. It sloshed off in great amounts, pooling at her feet, which still didn’t touch the floor. It suddenly didn’t matter if Snape was mad at them or not, because Snape never spoke to her, never treated her with an ounce of decency, and now, he was apparently her _dad._ That particular part still made her head want to explode, but for some reason, he thought that them being cornered by a troll was _their_ fault?

She glared right back. Snape noticed, and his eyes narrowed dangerously.

“Why did you run?” Snape snarled at her.

“I didn’t.” said Ariel.

“You did.”

“I didn’t.”

“You _did,_ I _watched_ you.”

“Well, I didn’t watch _you.”_

Snape gave her a weird look, like he thought she’d lost her mind. Maybe she had. She couldn’t tell anymore, between the letter and the troll and Snape dragging her down to the dungeons to grind her into a potion.

“We were studying.” Hermione answered quickly.

 _“Studying.”_ Snape repeated flatly, obviously not buying it. “On a _holiday.”_

“I was just going to use the loo!” Ariel shot back. “It was in the bathroom and the troll cornered us. Then Ron showed up, we had no clue there was a troll in the school. How _could_ we if we weren’t at the Feast?”

“So you were running through the halls,” said Snape, in a voice that didn’t believe them for a second. “And crashed you reprehensible person into mine because you had to use the _loo._ After _studying.”_

Snape glowered down at her, his hands flexing at his sides.

 _“What?”_ Ariel frowned, growing annoyed. “It’s not _our_ fault. How did it even get inside Hogwarts?”

Hermione was shooting her a look that clearly told her to stop while she was ahead, but her irritation was steadily building, alongside Snape’s.

 _“‘How’_ is irrelevant.” Snape spat back. “The _point_ is that you were both not where you were supposed to be. If you had been, this wouldn’t have happened.”

Ariel fought back the urge to roll her eyes at his logic, but with a small head shake from Hermione, she leaned back in her chair. Snape wasn’t anything like Uncle Vernon (he was much scarier) but Ariel hadn’t forgotten how to intimidate. Unfortunately, Snape was immune to her glares. They did a good job on the Dursleys, when she tried. Snape gave her another one of those guarded, strange looks, like he was dealing with dangerous potions ingredients.

And then, he did something truly terrible.

“Miss Granger, you may return to your dormitory.” said Snape, a vicious glint in his eyes. “I’d like to speak with Miss Evans, _alone.”_

Ariel’s entire chest felt like it was caving in. Hermione shot her a look of horror, and before Snape could say anything, she was shaking her head vehemently at Snape. “No, sir, I’d rather stay —”

“That wasn’t a suggestion.” he snarled. _“Out!”_

“Sir, I —”

Snape’s biting glare made him appear skeletal in the candlelight. It was hardening the lines of his face, the line of his hooked nose, and if Ariel hadn’t been wondering why he wanted her alone, she might’ve done something Neville-esque and fainted. The idea of Snape _knowing_ about the letter —

— which was sitting in her robe pocket, and she was sitting three feet away from her new father.

Ariel’s heart went _THUMPTHUMPTHUMP_ so loud, she didn’t know how Hermione and Snape didn’t hear it.

“It’s okay, Hermione.” she managed to force out. “I’ll see you up there, yeah?”

Hermione shot her another one of those _are-you-completely-insane_ glances, but before she could argue, Snape had thrown open his office door, pointing to the empty, dark corridor beyond it. Hermione peeled herself out of her seat, searching Ariel’s eyes for reassurance that she wasn’t abandoning her. Ariel gave her a slight nod back and managed to give something that looked like a smile. That anger towards Snape hadn’t subsided, but the impending doom of being forced to talk to him, _alone,_ was sending her mind into fight-or-flight mode. She was itching to run through that door, all the way up to Gryffindor Tower, and never leave her bed ever again.

Hermione whirled around once she was over the threshold. “Sir —”

Snape slammed the door in her face. He rounded on Ariel, his expression homicidal. Ariel was not in the mood to think clearly about anyone’s state of mind anymore. She was, however, in the mood to say straight out whatever occurred to her without fear of the consequences

“You were running from something before.” Snape sat at the edge of the desk, his arms crossed tightly across his chest. “You’re going to tell me what.”

Ariel stared up at him, into those fathomless black eyes. Did hers look like that? Did they glitter menacingly, did they seem bottomless? She didn’t think so, otherwise, Dudley never would’ve picked on her.

“I told you.” Ariel said in her best lying voice. “I had to use the loo.”

Snape ripped out a snarl, slamming his fist down on the desk. It made Ariel jump, the letter crinkling against her side. She tried to keep her face straight, praying that Snape hadn’t heard it. He didn’t — his face had glossed over into a smooth, emotionless mask, like an undisturbed pond.

“I know what you were doing tonight.” Snape finally bit out. “Professor McGonagall told me you asked her permission, so I know you’re lying about _studying,_ which tells me you’re lying about why you were rampaging through Hogwarts.”

Something cold slid down her spine and up her throat. “What did she say we were doing?”

His black eyes fixed on hers. This was the first time he was looking at her, _really_ looking at her. Ariel wondered if Snape would recognize the eyes, put two and two together, when he finally looked away.

“Every magical child knows what happened on Halloween ten years ago.” Snape’s voice didn’t have a bottom. “And now, so do you. Professor McGonagall sympathized with this.”

“Because they died.” Ariel said. “My parents, I mean. James and Lily.” 

She could’ve sworn she saw him flinch. The letter in her pocket suddenly felt like it weighed a thousand pounds. Snape didn’t say anything, he just stared at her, like her was trying to read her mind. She could see his nails digging into the wood of the desk. This… bothered him.

And this made her bolder.

“Aunt Petunia never told me when it happened.” Ariel leaned forward in her seat. “You knew her, didn’t you? You said Aunt Petunia hated Mum because Mum had magic.”

Snape had gone very still. The candlelight flickering over his face was the only part of him that moved. His eyes had even stopped glittering. They’d gone as dark and cold as the dungeons. They weren’t a faraway look, more like he’d disappeared inside himself, and his body was a husk, a shell waiting to be inhabited again. Ariel kept her gaze level with his, waiting for a response, a reaction, _anything._

When he spoke again, only his mouth moved.

“Detention, with me, tomorrow.” Snape hissed. “Don’t be late.”

Ariel blinked up at him. “What?”

Her confusion seemed to snap him out of whatever was happening inside of Snape’s head. He bared his teeth, leering over her as she leaned back, cursing herself as the letter made its presence known again. If Snape heard it _this_ time, he didn’t say so.

“Get,” his whisper was louder than any troll’s roar. _“Out.”_

Ariel didn’t argue. She felt… satisfied.

Snape knew something, and she was going to find out what.

* * *

Severus could’ve sworn the girl had a smile on her face when she left. He didn’t like that smile, didn’t like how it followed her questions like a victory march. He picked up a jar and threw it into the fireplace. It exploded, causing the fire to roar intensely for a moment before settling back comfortably into the hearth.

_Because they died_

Stupid _fucking —_

_Mum had magic_

That girl was up to something. She’d changed, between this morning’s Potions class and minutes ago. There was a sharpness in her face, a glint of mischief in her eyes. That haunted, ghostly face that had barrelled into him earlier in the evening was gone. It was hard for Severus to categorize them as the same person.

Neither of those people looked like Lily. Not one of them looked like her daughter, either.

Evans… _knew_ something, and Severus was going to find out what.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Thank you for all the kind words last chapter. Please, if you can spare a moment, they really go a long way.
> 
> I hope you enjoyed this chapter. I hope it wasn't too canon-y, but chapters like this are necessary.
> 
> Stay safe, and until next time! x


	5. white blank page

The next morning, Ariel and Hermione showed Ron the letter.

He was still mad at them for abandoning him the night before, but he seemed to be more understanding when Hermione insisted that she wasn’t about to leave Ariel alone. Ariel had _then_ tried to explain that she’d _wanted_ to be alone, but Hermione had cut in that it was better that she hadn’t, because of the troll thing, and all. Ron deflated a little bit at this, nodding along as Ariel quietly shared that her parent’s death was something she felt the need to commemorate since they had, you know, _died_ and all.

They’d settled themselves by one of the fireplaces, far enough away from everyone else so no one could overhear. The other Gryffindors were busying themselves with getting ready to go down to breakfast, or finishing last minute assignments. The fire felt nice against the chilly November air that had begun to creep into the walls of the school. Ariel was wearing the jumper Hermione had loaned her, while Hermione had settled for her fluffy bathrobe. Ron was still in pajamas, and barefoot. It made Ariel shiver just looking at him. Fred and George were lurking around, planting dungbombs in some of the seventh years’ bathrooms. Some of them had apparently taken credit for an invention they’d put together, and they’d unintentionally started a one-sided war. Ariel felt bad for the seventh years, they didn’t know what they were in for. 

When Ariel handed him the letter, Ron gave her a weird look, like she’d given him one of Hagrid’s rock-cakes. “You want _me_ to read it?”

“Of course I do.” Ariel frowned. “Why wouldn’t I? You’re one of my best mates.”

Ron went as red as a tomato. “I… erm, well, _yeah,_ I mean, me too, but you don’t think it’s, I dunno, too _personal_ for me to read?”

She shook her head. “I can’t explain it. You need to see for yourself.”

He gave the letter a wary look, as if he was afraid it would grow teeth and bite him. “Well… what does it _say?”_

Ariel fought the urge to roll her eyes. “That’s kinda the whole point of reading it.”

“I _know that._ Can you at least give me _some_ sort of hint? You’re starting to scare me.”

Hermione and Ariel exchanged a knowing look. This seemed to make Ron angry again, because he huffed and crossed his arms. _“Fine._ Be that way. If you can’t bother to tell me where you will and won’t be _and_ not tell me _anything_ about whatever the bloody hell is going on —”

“It’s about my dad.” Ariel cut him off.

Ron stared at her as if she’d spoken a foreign language.

“It’s best you read it for yourself.” Hermione chimed in nervously. She wrung her hands in her bathrobe. Ariel could tell she was uncomfortable with all of this, but Hermione had done a pretty good job at masking it. She still couldn’t tell if it was just the part about Snape, or everything in between. Ariel wasn’t sure about it either, which made her feel both better and worse.

“Stuff like what?” Ron demanded.

It was at this precise moment that one of Fred and George’s traps went off, which resulted in a lot of frantic yelling, and a thin layer of smoke to slowly seep across the ceiling. The three of them jumped, a triumphant _“HUZZAH!”_ echoing from somewhere nearby. Ariel couldn’t help but crack a smile at that. Ron, however, did not.

Ariel was reminded of a couple of nights after she’d left the Dursleys, when she’d gone to use the loo at the Burrow, and heard Mrs Weasley whispering angrily at Ron. He’d wanted to know why Ariel was there, what had happened, and why no one would tell him why’d she’d be staying with them until school started. Mrs Weasley had thought he was being rude and nosy, but it had made Ariel feel guilty, like she was holding onto a secret she had no right to keep, especially if she was imposing on the Weasleys. Ron sounded the same as he did then, both offended and forgotten. Ariel had told him the next day why she was there, about Dumbledore and Snape, but he’d thought she was lying about that last part.

“Mum kept some things a secret.” she said quietly. “Please, just trust me.”

Ron gave her another doubtful look, but unfolded the letter slowly. He didn’t start reading until Ariel gave him another nod, signaling that it was okay. She could tell when he got up to The _Spot_ — his eyes went as wide as saucers and froze, like he couldn’t tear them away. He looked the letter up and down a few times, his fingers tracing over her mum’s words, smudged and uneven, both in their penmanship, and their delivery.

Ron looked at the letter, back up at Ariel, and then down at the letter again. “You’re pulling my leg. Did Fred and George put you up to this?”

Hermione spoke before Ariel could. “Really, Ronald? Why would we joke about something like that?”

Ariel was relieved to see that Ron was equally as horrified about this as she was. She still thought Hermione should’ve been way more upset. It was _Snape._

Ron just kept shaking his head, his hair, still a mess from bed, falling into his eyes. “No, there’s got to be some mistake.”

“I don’t think there is.” Ariel said dejectedly.

“Yeah but… but how could Snape not _know?”_ Ron continued scanning the page with laser beam precision. “There’s another page, right?”

“No, that’s it.” Hermione bit her lip, eyebrows furrowing. “We couldn’t figure it out either. It’s rather short.”

“Too short, if you ask me.” Ariel said, trying to keep her emotions in check. She felt like laughing and screaming at the same time. “She said she Obliviated him —”

“Yeah but… what about _you?”_ Ron asked, an edge to his voice, a concern that finally released the tightness in her chest. “She left you to deal with Snape, and he’s bloody awful! You see what he does to Neville, how he favors the Slytherins!”

Ariel swallowed back the lump in her throat. She had been so angry, after coming back from Snape’s office. Hermione had tried talking to her, but all she’d done was crawl into bed, draw the curtains, and cast a Silencing charm. She’d cried, not for long, but enough to make herself feel a little bit better. The satisfaction of catching Snape off guard had come back to her in waves, when the bitter realization that her parents were not as perfect as she’d thought wasn’t chipping away at her heart. For a little while, Ariel had thought that she was angry just with Snape for being a git, but when she’d peered at her wall of pictures, she’d felt her chest burn with anger at her mother.

 _“_ Adults are _weird.”_ Ron handed the letter back to her, shaking his head. “What’re you going to do? You can’t tell him.”

“I’m working on it.” Ariel said, rubbing at her eyes.

“I agree.” Hermione said firmly. “You shouldn’t say anything until you’re sure.”

“Then how am I supposed to find out if he’s really my dad?” Ariel asked, throwing her hands up in exasperation. “I’ve got to tell him at _some point.”_

Hermione bit her lip, and then, in a quiet voice, said, “If your mum couldn’t tell him then, what makes you think it’s okay to tell him now?”

That was a good question, Ariel realized, as another wave of horror washed over her. She stared down at the words in her hands, not reading it, but staring at the parchment, which was as old as she was. There was so much she didn’t understand. Death Eaters and James and the Order… she felt like a speck in the middle of space, small and undefined.

Ariel’s brain was beginning to hurt, as if it were too big, like all of their opinions and this new information was too much for her to handle. She’d thought telling Ron would take some of the load off, but it didn’t. It only made it worse. She hadn’t slept all night, rereading her mum’s words over and over, trying to make sense of it. When she’d tried to sleep, she’d felt her picture-parents’ eyes on her, the pictures that had brought her so much comfort now only making her anxiety worse. Ariel could feel them watching, feel their knowing glances down at her, saying, _“we know you know, now what are you going to do about it?”_

Hermione hadn’t said a word when she saw Ariel taking them down earlier that morning.

“I don’t believe it.” Ron said, breaking the tense silence. “Why _Snape?_ How do you know your mum actually wrote this? It could be fake.”

“It was in her old school trunk.” Ariel smoothed her hand over the letter, folding it neatly down the middle. She’d have to find a better hiding spot than under her mattress. “Everything else in there was hers… why wouldn’t the letter?”

“And what would be the point in that?” Hermione chimed in. “Who would gain from making up something like this? I can’t think of anyone… can either of you?”

“Maybe Snape?” Ron guessed. “He’s a weird bloke. Maybe he put it there?”

“Snape hates me.” said Ariel, the words twisting her heart. They hadn’t done that when she’d said them last night. This bothered her. “I have a plan, though. I’m gonna find out what he knows.”

It was Ron and Hermione’s turns to exchange a wary, panicked look between them.

“What?” Ariel bristled. “I’m not going to flat out _ask him._ He knew my Aunt Petunia, that means the letter has to be a _little bit_ true. She doesn’t have magic, but Mum did, so she _could_ have known Snape, could’ve been his friend, I guess. If he really is my dad, I have to know. He seemed awfully bothered when I asked about it last night.”

“You _what?”_ Ron bleated. “Have you gone completely mental?”

“I wanted to know the truth — I have a right to know!”

“But —”

Hermione let out a loud gasp, then. It was more of a shriek, but she quickly put her hands over her mouth. Ariel gave her a startled look, but before she could ask what was wrong, Ron was letting out a shout of his own, pointing a finger at the letter settled in her lap.

When Ariel looked down at it, the words were fading away, like melting snow. Her heart turned from fire, to ice.

“NO!” she frantically smoothed her hands over the letter, trying to get it to stop. “No no no!”

“What’s happening?” Ron leaned over, pulling at the corners as he tried to get a better look. “Why’s it doing that?”

The words at the far edges were the first to go, as if there was a magical eraser hovering over the page that they couldn’t see. Ariel couldn’t look away, couldn’t tear her eyes as they went, leaving her behind. She wanted to go with them, wherever they were going.

“I don’t know!” Hermione pointed her wand at the letter. “Hold on, I’m going to try a restoration charm. _Ever —”_

“No, don’t!”

Words were appearing in the very center of the page again, only this time, the handwriting was steady, neat, in a tight cursive. It was still her mum’s, but it looked so much cleaner, like she’d sat down and written it out thoughtfully. The old letter had been so cluttered, so messy and unintentional, too many discoveries and secrets for only one page to hold by itself.

 _“Where do we go when we walk on light?”_ it read now, her mum’s confession gone entirely. No more Snape and James, no more Order, no more Death Eaters and Voldemort.

“Wha… what does that mean?” Ariel asked, looking between Ron and Hermione helplessly. “What _happened?”_

Hermione gently pried the letter from her hands, her fingers curling into the space where it had been. She felt abandoned, those stupid (amazing, wonderful, heartwarming) words gone, no longer proof that her mum was _real,_ that she had been there, and she’d loved her. Not to mention that the proof that Snape was her _dad_ was gone now, too.

“It must be some sort of protective spell.” Hermione finally sighed, looking troubled. “You usually break them by reciting the answer. I read about them at the start of term, I’ll have to find the book in the library again.”

“How am I supposed to figure it out?” Ariel stared at the parchment, feeling miserable and hopeless. She’d hated that letter (loved it, how could she ever have hated it?) and now, it was gone, just like her mum was. “She didn’t say anything about it… why would she spell it to disappear? Why now? Why not make it so only _I_ can see it instead? This doesn’t make any sense!”

“Maybe try looking through the trunk?” Ron suggested, patting her shoulder comfortingly. “There’s got to be _some_ way to figure it out… but you’re right, why make it disappear like that? She _wanted_ you to read it, didn’t she?”

“The trunk is a good idea.” Hermione nodded eagerly. “You said she had old notebooks in there… maybe we could go through them? The counterspell could be written down somewhere. She _must’ve_ left it for you, but she must’ve also wanted to make sure that no one else read it once you had. There must’ve been a time limit on it.”

Ariel didn’t know what to say. She wanted the wobbly vowels and crossed out sentences back. When she peered down at the only words filling up the page, she didn’t recognize the person who’d written them anymore.

“I’m glad you guys know.” she whispered, her eyes refusing to look up. “I’m glad you saw what she said. It means a lot.”

Hermione was hugging her before she could apologize for dragging them into this. She was secretly terrified that Ron would’ve been so disgusted with her, but the look on his face made her feel awful for even thinking that.

 _“ARIEL!”_ a voice screeched from the girls’ dormitory — it was Lavender. “ARIEL, my _FAIRY LIGHTS!”_

Ron jumped up from where he sat. “Bloody hell, what’s she going on about?”

Ariel didn’t move. She just folded the letter, and rubbed at her eyes tiredly. “The pictures,” she muttered. “Lavender spent so much time helping… she’s going to have a fit.”

* * *

Severus found himself in a fouler mood than usual the next morning, and it had — not for the first time since term had begun — everything to do with Lily-thing.

He’d spent more time than he’d wanted to last night trying to piece together what the fuck could be going on inside her stupid little head. It was maddening, trying to figure out what the brat could’ve possibly gotten in to to warrant such a drastic shift in personality. Severus tried to label that smart little smile the girl had given him as _Potter,_ but he couldn’t. It was the same smile he’d seen on Lily-thing’s face after she’d seen what he’d done to Petunia’s bedroom.

_Aunt Petunia never told me when it happened_

_You knew her, didn’t you?_

_You said Aunt Petunia hated Mum because Mum had magic_

Severus should have anticipated Lily-thing asking him about that. He hadn’t exactly hidden his emotions well after seeing the brat under the stairs, which was something he mentally berated himself for weeks after, but _someone_ had to be angry. Dumbledore, even though those brief flashes of righteous anger filled in the whites of his eyes, would not have given Petunia half the retribution she deserved.

He really, _really_ hated Petunia for that.

And yet, Seveurs had not asked the Headmaster what he’d done when Lily-thing’s relatives had returned home.

After resigning himself to accepting that he’d have to interrogate Lily-thing during her detention with him, he’d gone to bed, only to dream about Lily-thing being stepped on by the mountain troll, her mother’s ghost watching from afar. She’d let out a scream that had Severus shooting out of bed like a bullet, and then, he’d slept no more.

As Severus stalked into the Great Hall, he observed most of the first year Slytherins huddled around Draco. This wasn’t unusual, the boy had his father’s ability to hold a room, to make those around him think he was the only one worth being the center of attention. Lucius was a master at it, unless, of course, he had been in the same room as the Dark Lord. He’d slashed his confidence on more than one occasion in order to assert his dominance, but after his fall, Lucius had grown even cockier. That arrogance had not been lost on his only son.

The Gryffindor table was distinctly lacking three students, Severus noticed. His blood pressure shot through the roof at the thought of last night, of hearing the girls’ screams and the roar of the troll just as he’d run into Minerva.

“... a shame Evans wasn’t eaten by that mutt.” Draco was bragging. “It might’ve worked, if it hadn’t been for Weasley and Granger.”

He stopped short, and the students noticed. It was Parkinson who was the first to look panicked. Her face was enough to send the others skittering from the table. They all knew they were talking about something that would get them in trouble, and Draco, being a Malfoy, had chosen to say precisely the wrong thing just as Severus was walking by. The boy might’ve had Lucius’ charm, but he had absolutely none of his _tact._ They were only a handful of words, an offhand comment, but Severus knew everything he needed to know in that moment.

Something inside of him went _click,_ and then, _snap._

Lily-thing knew about the Stone.

Severus threw up his Shields before he did something semi-regrettable.

“I’m sorry, Mr Malfoy,” Severus hissed. _“what_ was that?”

The Slytherins finished peeling themselves away from the table, leaving their breakfast mostly untouched.

Draco went as white as a sheet. “Nothing! I’m sorry, Professor Snape —”

“I recall the Headmaster saying something about ‘dying a terrible death,’ should anyone find themselves in the third floor corridor.” he gaze hardened. “Expulsion, for anyone who _tries.”_

“Y-yes, sir. I haven’t been up there, I swear!” Draco looked around desperately, but the others had left, and Parkinson was tripping over herself as she gathered her books. “I was just — Evans told me! She was bragging about how she saw some monster… you should tell Professor Dumbledore, she could get someone hurt!”

It was a lie, though, not a bad attempt. Children were horrible liars (Lily-thing being the worst of them all in his experience). Severus might have believed it had he not heard Draco moments before, and thought that Lily-thing was a homicidal maniac. The girl was about as intimidating as a worm.

“I see.” Severus glared at him. “I’ll speak to Miss Evans… I would hope such a tale would serve as a _warning_ to others.”

Draco gulped and nodded, letting himself be dragged away by Parkinson. Normally, Severus wouldn’t care what the little monsters got up to, but Lucius and Narcissa would become a thorn in his side if something happened to their precious baby boy — _especially_ if they found out it had something to do with Lily-thing. That matter wasn’t as pressing now, because if the brats knew about _Fluffy,_ then Severus would have bet his wand arm that they knew about the Stone somehow.

It was all coming together inside his head, a mindmeld that made him want to smash the breakfast plates. Lily-thing and Granger must have _seen something_ last night, must have known something about whoever let that damn mountain troll in…

Severus was seething as he sat down at the High Table, but he hid it well. The girl would show up eventually, and when she did, he was going to make sure she knew what she was in for tonight. If that girl went anywhere near the Stone, Severus was going to kill someone. It couldn’t be her, because if she went after it, she’d be dead already. 

He purposefully forced himself to sit next to Dumbledore, who was far too happy with this development. The old man began chatting away about whatever Hagrid had ended up doing with the troll, which Severus barely paid attention to as he watched the entrance to the Great Hall. He was waiting for Lily-thing, because he was going to make sure she knew that _he_ knew, and that he was going to make her sorry she’d ever had a curious thought in her life.

“Severus?” Dumbledore broke his concentration, a look of mild concern on his face. “Are you alright? You seem a tad stressed.”

He reluctantly broke his line of sight with the door to speak. “Did Minerva tell you who found the troll?”

Dumbledore’s mustache twitched. “She did, although, from what I was told, it was the troll who found them.”

Almost as if she knew they were talking about her, Lily-thing appeared in the doorway, Weasley and Granger at her side. She looked miserable as she dragged herself to the Gryffindor table, like there was a rain cloud hanging over her head. He hoped it was because of the detention. Severus sent her a cracking look, one that would’ve leveled the strongest of wizards. Granger was shoveling food onto her plate when Lily-thing finally lifted her eyes in his direction. He could still feel his blood pumping in his ears, the thought of the girl anywhere near Hagrid’s fucking monstrosity making it hard to concentrate.

Stupid, _FOOLISH_ girl.

She stared right back, unfazed. It was almost as if she was looking right through him.

His knuckles cracked beneath the table. Why that _little —_

_Mum had magic_

To his annoyance, Dumbledore took note of this interaction. “I was wondering,” he said. “if you’d happened to notice anything that seemed different about Ariel?”

Severus looked back to the girl. She was shoving her eggs around her plate like they were toxic waste. The old man had noticed it too, but this wasn’t even remotely alarming. Dumbledore noticed everything. Severus would rather impale himself with his fork than mention what Lily-thing had asked about her aunt and mother last night. Dumbledore would take that inch, and he’d twinkle at him for days until he finally asked why Severus didn’t try to _get to know_ the brat. That’s what all these questions about Evans were _really_ about, after all. 

“She’s developed an… _edge.”_ Severus jammed his fork into a sausage. “It’s undoubtedly the hero-complex she’s inherited from her father.”

Dumbledore clasped his hands together, like he was about to hear a story he’d heard a thousand times before.

“Miss Evans knows about the Stone.” Severus said, keeping his eyes trained on the brat. _“That’s_ why she wasn’t at the Feast last night.”

He didn’t know what he expected, but the lack of _any_ sort of appropriate reaction from Dumbledore made Severus’ blood boil. The old man simply leaned back in his chair, his blue eyes watching the girl as well. “I see. I assume she shared this with you?”

“She ran into Hagrid’s _pet,_ and I caught her running through the halls last night with Granger, running from _something,_ and then they _just so happened_ to end up finding that troll. She knows. She… was acting strangely last night.” Severus seethed, ignoring Dumbledore’s suddenly intense gaze. “She was _clearly_ frightened, but when I brought her and Miss Granger into my office she was… defiant — angry. The girl knows more than she’s letting on.”

“What did she say, when you questioned her?” asked Dumbledore, serious.

“Nothing that wasn’t a lie.”

Dumbledore frowned. “I hardly think Ariel would lie if she saw something.”

“You don’t know that.” Severus snapped. “You hardly know the girl.”

Something like regret pulsed through Dumbledore’s face, like a round of lightning. It was gone as quickly as it had appeared, but it shot through Severus as well, a sharpness that twisted his insides the wrong way. He could have very well told Severus that he didn’t know the girl well enough either to be making such accusations. The difference was that Dumbledore felt guilty, and Severus felt horror at even entertaining the notion.

“Well, while we’re discussing the subject,” Dumbledore reached for the marmalade, spreading it across his toast with a merry smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I’d like you to keep an eye on Quirinus.”

It took Severus a minute to comprehend what Dumbledore had said. His eyes narrowed. “I _beg_ your pardon?”

“Quirinus, my dear boy.” he took a bite, gazing thoughtfully towards the ceiling. “I’d like for you to shadow him for a few days. Perhaps longer, should you find anything suspicious.”

“And why in Merlin’s name would I —” Severus stopped, setting down the cutlery. Dumbledore continued to eat, like they were discussing the weather, and not stalking a colleague. “What is it you know?”

“I know very little about anything.” he said cheerfully. “It would be unwise, however, to simply ignore that he was late for the Feast when a mountain troll entered the school. Wouldn’t you agree?”

This was just what he needed — to be paranoid about something else. Lily-thing was going to get herself eaten before Christmas, and Dumbledore thought that numskull _Quirrell_ was trying to steal the bloody stone. He’d known _someone_ must have been, for it to be held here at the school, but Dumbledore had told him something at the start of term, something that had made his blood turn to ice.

 _“I recall Tom asking me to put him in touch with Nicolas.”_ he’d said, as they’d sealed the chamber that would house the Stone. _“It was just after I’d denied him the Defense position for the very first time. He’d expressed wanting to become an apprentice under him, if I recall correctly. I’d like to think I saved Nicolas’ life, by denying Tom that opportunity.”_

Severus did not respond to this. He supposed it was good, in a way, to hone in his rage on something that would be otherwise beneficial to keeping the school safe. What Quirrell wanted with the Stone, Merlin only knew, but luckily, he was quite low on his list of people he tolerated. The man was a bumbling idiot, far too much of a coward to serve as _any_ sort of example to children on how the Dark Arts were to be handled.

Yes, Severus decided, Quirrell would do _quite_ nicely.

* * *

Ariel left for her detention with Snape after receiving several pep talks from Ron and Hermione. She didn’t think she would have been able to handle Ron’s worried questions and Hermione’s searching eyes, not when her own stomach was in knots, but they were just as invested in this as she was, though Ariel was beginning to suspect that Hermione was treating this as more of a puzzle. She’d scoured old texts from the library while Ron and Ariel had skimmed through her mum’s old notebooks, reading aloud anything she thought might be helpful, but the author’s words echoed a different time, in rhyme and reason Ariel didn’t think she could even begin to try and decode. That was why, she supposed, Hermione was handling the research aspect.

They’d made an agreement that Ariel would not share anything _from_ her mum’s letter, only that she’d try and see what Snape did and didn’t know. Ron had started to look a little green towards the end, but Hermione had shoved him off in the direction of the boys’ dorms, leaving Ariel to begin her descent down to Snape’s classroom. They’d assured her that they’d keep searching through her mother’s trunk for anything that could lead them in the right direction.

 _Where do we go when we walk on light?_ Ariel wondered what it meant. She wondered even more what the answer was. She hadn’t brought the letter with her, mostly because she was mad at it. What kind of stupid letter disappeared after reading it, anyway? How was she supposed to prove _anything_ to Snape if it came to it? What if she told him and he thought she was a liar? Or worse… what if he tried to get her expelled for it?

She couldn’t remember ever feeling this nervous about something, ever.

Ariel let herself drag her feet a little as she made her way down into the dungeons. She’d never had a detention before, and wasn’t looking forward to the fact that her first one was with Snape. Fred and George griped a lot about them, but she had a feeling they were exaggerating a whole lot of it, and mostly to mess with Ron. As she passed by the Slytherin dorms she made a face, sticking out her tongue, secretly hoping Malfoy was directly on the other side. She couldn’t stand him — she remembered punching Dudley once, when he’d made some stupid, thoughtless comment about her parents and clocking him right in the nose, so hard it had started to bleed. Ariel had that same urge whenever he saw the look Malfoy gave Hermione, like she was dirt underneath his boot. The way he’d spoken to her on the Hogwarts Express was enough to (almost) make her lose it.

Snape liked Malfoy, though. Well, maybe _liked_ was too strong of a word, but he certainly favored him.

This was the thought in her head when Ariel rapped on the door to his classroom. It flew open, a dark, foreboding figure looming over her, like a cat about to pounce on its prey.

 _Have some fire,_ her mum had said. _Be better._

She stared up at Snape. His black eyes glared down at her menacingly, the light from the candles lining the corridor reflecting off them.

 _“In.”_ Snape jerked his head, pulling back the door so Ariel could enter. She remembered Fred and George telling her and Ron about Snape, but it was just how she’d pictured it the first day of classes, minus some of the torture devices the twins had listed. A dull light filtered in from the candles, most of them down to the wick. It was darker than it usually was, an eerie wall of blues and greens illuminated on the shelves. Ariel shuddered as she looked at the specimens inside, swearing one of them winked at her. She wondered how he worked in here.

Snape swept past her, his black robes brushing past her, and pointed at two large buckets of _dead toads._

“You’re going to gut them.” Snape said in a soft voice, the same one he used in class. It was both an order, and somehow, a direct insult.

The poor-dead toads stared up at her, pleading with her not to do this terrible thing with their lifeless eyes. Snape dropped a pair of gloves — though they could barely be called that, they were full of holes and fraying at the seams — onto the table beside the buckets.

 _“All_ of them?” Ariel asked, horrified.

Snape gave her a horrible smile, one that made a shiver run up her spine. “All of them.”

She bit the inside of her cheek, slapping down the gloves on the bench with more force than necessary. That hard little rock inside her chest she’d felt last night gazing up at her dead mum’s pictures was growing hot, burning against her throat. It wanted out, in that moment, but instead, Ariel swallowed roughly and took a deep breath. If Snape had noticed her flare up, he didn’t say so. He’d stalked over to his desk to set down a pile of papers. Ariel wondered if they were from her class — Snape never handed her back papers, though. He’d never returned a single thing to her, never given her a comment or even _told_ her that she was doing well. Ariel only assumed because he hadn’t insulted her potion-making abilities… yet. That was a good thing, she supposed, because she rather liked —

Her stomach did a series of backflips. She was good at _potions…_ because of the potions _professor._

The poor-dead toads stared up at her, their eyes as empty as the space where her heart had been.

Ariel studied Snape while he worked. He wasn’t very handsome, but he wasn’t that old, either. She didn’t know how old he was, but if he’d gone to school with her mum and dad, that meant he was still kind of young, didn’t it? _All_ adults in her mind were _old,_ but he wasn’t old like Professor Dumbledore. Ariel could still remember the nasty shock she’d gotten when the Headmaster had told her Snape was a _teacher,_ back in the Dursley’s kitchen. Back then, he’d just been a scary adult, but Snape the Teacher was someone… really, _really_ scary.

 _Snape the Teacher is your dad,_ said a very nasty little voice inside her head, _inside that wonderful?_

Ariel ripped into the next poor-dead toad a little too harshly, blood and guts splattering her robes. She winced, mumbling an apology under her breath as it’s mouth hung open at her in shock. Her eyes flitted back to Snape, who was still ignoring her.

What had her mum seen in him that she couldn’t? He was so… _mean._

Ariel was fifteen poor-dead toads in when she decided that she was going to try and talk to him. Snape still hadn’t looked up from the papers he was grading, his mouth fixed in a tight line as he slashed through what looked like essays with a blood-red quill. She stared down at the poor-dead toad guts, noticing her breath coming out slightly ragged, like she’d just finished running. The Sorting Hat had wanted her in Slytherin, and Slytherins were (awful) good at this sort of thing, weren’t they? They were good at getting what they wanted without being too obvious…

But she wasn’t a Slytherin, she was a Gryffindor.

She set down the carving knife, and took a deep breath. “Did you and the other professors ever find out how that troll got into the school?”

Snape’s eyes flickered to her, completely uninterested. “Magic.”

She blinked back. “What _kind_ of magic?”

“The most unspeakable kind.”

Ariel wondered if he was being purposefully annoying. “Has a troll ever gotten into the school before?” she tried instead.

“Not since I was hired.” Snape stopped grading to give her a dark, warning glare. It felt like looking into the mouth of a cave.

“Okay… so…. how _long_ have you been teaching?” she tried to make herself sound forceful, but it came out small, like she was wondering if she _could_ ask the question.

“Too long.” he went back to the essay, his quill probably ruining some poor first years’ self esteem.

She bit her tongue, picking up the carving knife again. “You don’t like teaching?”

“I don’t like this conversation.” he stopped grading, only his eyes moving to give her a pointed glower. “You’re never this… _chatty.”_

“You don’t know that.”

Snape’s eyes narrowed dangerously. He set the quill down. “I _do.”_

“You and I have never talked before.” Ariel stuck the carving knife into the table. Snape finally noticed it then, his black eyes snapping up to meet hers.

“You want to have a conversation?” Snape hissed. _“Fine._ Let’s discuss _last night.”_

Oh _no —_ had it only been last night? Everything felt like it had happened eons ago. The secret weighed so heavily on Ariel’s mind that it felt like it had been with her all her life. She might’ve been a Gryffindor, but she didn’t think she had it in her to _have a conversation_ with _Snape_ without letting it slip that Lily Potter thought he was her real dad. Hadn’t they had this conversation already anyway? Maybe he was still mad about it… he’d kicked her out when she’d asked about Aunt Petunia. She had a feeling it wasn’t a pleasant subject for him. They had _that_ in common.

Ariel squared her chin, and tried to make herself look brave. “What about it?”

“You _know_ what.” Snape bared his teeth, which were yellow and uneven on the bottom. “Let’s _really_ discuss what you saw.”

She picked up another poor-dead toad, ripping the knife down its belly to keep her mind from wandering to the stupid (not stupid) letter. “I didn’t do anything wrong besides smacking into you… I’m sorry about that, by the way. I was running from —”

“So you _were_ running from something.” Snape’s nostrils flared aggressively, like a bull about to charge.

Ariel set the poor dead-toad down on the table again, confused with this sudden burst of anger. “Not really. I just didn’t want to be there anymore.”

Snape stared at her, suspicion plainly written all over his face. His lip curled as he slammed a drawer closed, standing to lean forward over the desk. She stared back at him, trying to see whatever her Mum had. Something inside of her suddenly itched, this need to tell him, because he was suspicious and he wanted to know _something._ Ariel just couldn’t figure out what it was that he was after…

“The Stone.” Snape said flatly. “I know you know.”

It took Ariel a minute to comprehend what he was saying. “The — stone? What stone?”

“You _know_ what blasted Stone!” Snape snarled. “I know you and your little friends ran into that _beast_ guarding it. I overheard Mr Malfoy discussing it, so _don’t — lie_ — to me.” 

All of the blood drained from her face. She’d forgotten about the dog, and the revenge she’d been planning to take against Draco. The three-headed dog was… guarding a stone? It must’ve been pretty important, because Snape was getting angrier and angrier. Of _course_ Draco had told Snape… she didn’t know why she expected any different.

“I don’t know about any stone,” Ariel said carefully. “honest. Draco tricked us into going down there for a stupid duel, but I didn’t see anything else besides Fluffy.”

“No? Ariel Evans didn’t find anything _remotely_ interesting about a giant three-headed monster guarding the forbidden corridor?”

“No!” her face felt hot. “What does this have to do with last night?”

Snape’s glare hardened, the lines of his face deep against the dim candlelight. “You’re going to tell me what you saw. It’s imperative myself and the other professors know.”

Her head was going to explode, Ariel was sure of it. “What would I have seen? You know we ran into the troll, and we didn’t know it was there because Hermione and I weren’t at the Feast!”

“No more questions.” he growled at her, like he wanted to Hex her, or worse. “What did you see?”

“I didn’t see anything!”

“You did.”

“No, I didn’t! And even if I did see something, what does that have to do with —”

“Because someone is _trying_ to _steal_ it!” _you idiot_ — his tone finished the sentence.

 _“Oh.”_ Ariel felt herself bristling. “Well, of course I would tell you if I saw something! Why wouldn’t I?”

“Because you’re a meddlesome Gryffindor.” Snape sneered.

“I am _not!”_ she said, a little too loudly. Snape gave her a dangerous look that knocked her down at least two pegs. “I’m telling the truth! Hermione and I were just sitting there and I… I don’t know, I really didn’t feel good all of a sudden.”

Even Ariel realized, in that moment, how terrible of a liar she was. It made her mad, because she _was_ telling _most_ of the truth. She was just leaving out a very small (huge, gigantic, nuclear) detail. Snape, however, still wasn’t buying it. If she’d seen someone trying to steal some magic _stone,_ she would’ve said something. She wasn’t completely mental.

“I promise I didn’t see anyone or anything.” Ariel said, just as Snape started to threaten her with something about the Headmaster. “It was just Hermione and I, we don’t know who let that troll in, and I don’t know about this stone you keep mentioning. What’s so important about it, anyway? Who’d want to _steal_ it?”

Snape deflated a bit, but his eyes were still ice cold and unrelentingly staring her down. “It’s none of your business.”

“You’re accusing me of knowing about it, so _I’d_ say it’s pretty important.”

 _“I’d say_ you’d better watch it,” Snape’s eyes flashed. “or I’ll have you gutting toads till morning.”

“Well if I’m gutting toads, I can’t look for this stone then, yeah?”

Ariel didn’t know what had caused her to say that, and while she was quite happy with herself for being brave and not letting Snape scare her up until then, it all dissipated at the thunderous expression that rolled over his face.

“I’ll stay away from the Stone,” Ariel said quickly — something that felt like her fight-or-flight instinct was kicking in. “and tell you what I was really doing during the Feast last night, if _you_ tell _me_ something.”

Snape jerked away, as if she’d thrown something at him. She could tell she’d caught him off guard, again, just like she had last night, but he stayed frozen. He didn’t break eye contact. Ariel could tell he wasn’t really looking at her anymore. “How is that in _any_ way relevant? You’re in detention because you were doing something you shouldn’t have. If you’re withholding information —“

“It’s not!” she crossed her arms at him. “I told you, I don’t know anything you don’t!”

“Isn’t the _Stone_ enough?” he snarled. “You’re not _allowed_ near it. You’re not supposed to _know,_ and if I catch you trying to find it, so help me —”

“No, I don’t care about that.” she did — her brain was already running through how she was going to explain all this to Hermione and Ron when she got back upstairs. “You knew Aunt Petunia, but you haven’t talked to me at all. Why?”

Snape just stared at her, his expression a mixture of disgust and blatant shock. He didn’t wear the look well at all. Ariel had somehow gotten in front of his desk. She didn’t remember her feet moving, or telling herself to leave the safety of the workbench and the poor dead-toads. He was taller up close, a whole lot taller than she was, but she was shorter than all the other first years. She’d overheard Malfoy telling Pansy one day, _“how could someone so small have defeated You-Know-Who?”_

“You’re treading on dangerously thin ice, girl.” Snape said in a quiet, deadly voice, one that was louder than any scream.

For some reason, Ariel was not scared by this. “Why won’t you just tell me? You _said_ Aunt Petunia and my Mum didn’t get along. Did you know her?”

His face had gone hollow. He sagged against his chair. “Not _this_ again.”

“Did you know her?” Ariel asked again — she was breathing hard and fast. “Did you know my Mum? She wrote me a letter. I read it last night, that’s why I was upset, okay? Everyone knew her and my dad, but no one _knew_ them. You did though, you said so — you were her friend.”

Snape fell back into his chair, pinching the bridge of his nose, like he had a bad headache. He was silent for a few minutes, the only sound in the room Ariel’s labored breathing, and something simmering in a cauldron nearby.

“I’m telling you the truth, I swear.” she cursed herself for the wobble in her voice. “That’s all I was doing. I didn’t see anyone, it was just Hermione and I.”

_Please tell me please please please_

The things in the jars behind his desk were the only things moving, like they were nodding along in agreement. Ariel kept her gaze even, watching him, watching his eyes, but there was nothing there. He’d gone cold and dark, like a person when turned to stone. There was such a lack of a reaction, and yet, such a sudden shift in his demeanor, that Ariel knew the letter must be true. He might not have remembered everything, but he _did_ remember her mum.

Her heart ballooned, like her courage. “Did you know her? I asked Mrs Weasley, but she said only in passing, and Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon basically banned me from asking. I’ve never met someone who was their friend. Were you?”

“Was I what?” his voice was sharp and precise.

Ariel couldn’t help but jump at his response, but her chest hammered away, like an axe beating a block of wood. “Her friend.”

Something happened in his eyes, a light the size of the end of a needle. It shot through her like one. “Something like that.” Snape’s voice was twisted and uneven, identical to her mum’s handwriting.

Ariel was beginning to learn that Snape did not talk like a normal person. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because I did not _wish_ to tell you.” he said tonelessly.

“Is that why you came to the Dursleys?” Ariel crossed her arms tightly across her chest. “Because you were friends with Mum… or something like that?”

Snape buried his face in his hands, massaging his temple with his thumbs. “No. I came as an incredibly unfortunate result of circumstance.”

She flinched — Snape didn’t seem to notice. He looked like he wanted to disappear into the floorboards. It made Ariel feel terrible and angry, an insatiable need to ask and know more roaring away inside her, but stifled by her guilt. There was no reason for her to feel bad, but she supposed Snape looking so… defeated was only because of her questions.

“I meant it before, you know.” Ariel said, placing the carving knife on his desk. Her hands stung from gripping it so tightly. “I really didn’t see anything. I was just reading her letter.”

He gave her a tired, weary glare, pinching the bridge of his nose. She could tell that he’d convinced him of enough to cross her off his thief-list, but she also couldn’t blame him for being skeptical. Ariel had, after all, mowed him down in the middle of a corridor. The need to know something, however, seemed to be far less important than the idea of talking about her mum.

“Do you know anything about making words disappear?” Ariel asked in a small voice.

Snape blinked, his eyebrows furrowing. “Excuse me?”

“Like… off of a page?”

His lip curled. _“Why?_ What did you do?”

“Nothing.” she sat down in the chair across from him. Snape gave her a look like she’d sprouted a second head. “This morning, I was sitting with Ron and Hermione and… the letter… it erased itself. I really didn’t do anything, why do you think I’m always doing something wrong?”

He responded with another cold, direct reply, like he was aiming his words at her forehead. “Because it’s in your nature.”

It was Ariel’s turn to give him a baffled look. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He waved her off. “Some letters will fade away once they deem that the person it was intended for has satisfied its requirements.”

“Like _what?”_

Snape sighed, a short, frustrated sound. “There is oftentimes an _emotional_ attachment left within this category of Charms. Professor Flitwick would be able to help you.”

Ariel bit her lip. “You seem to know what you’re talking about.”

There was a long pause. Snape had leaned forward again, his chin resting on a closed fist. His eyebrows were knitted together in an expression of both deep annoyance and calculating certainty. She could see his eyes boring into hers, trying to figure her out. Ariel had the feeling that Snape wasn’t taken off guard very often, and she wasn’t exactly _trying_ to be open with him. Hermione was right, she couldn’t tell him the truth until she knew more, but she also had to give him _something._

She wanted to ask more about her mum. It was an itch in her bones, in her teeth. She wondered if her eyes were familiar at all to him, or if he even saw her at all. Snape had a way of looking at you, like you weren’t really there, like you didn’t matter one bit.

“We’re done here.” Snape said coldly. “Return to your dormitory, Miss Evans.”

“What?” Ariel shot out of the chair. “But I’m not finished with the —”

“I _said,”_ his voice was deadly, even though it was barely above a whisper. “we’re _done.”_

She felt like crying, the condemning glare too much to handle when she was so close. Why didn’t he want to help her? If he’d known her mum and had been her _friend,_ why was he acting like he wanted nothing to do with it? What kind of _friend_ was he?

They hadn’t been just friends, though… there was something more…

 _Why don’t you know?_ Ariel wanted to shout, wanted to throw the rest of the poor-dead toads at him. _Why did you want to forget?_

Instead, Ariel peeled off her gloves, and shoved them onto his desk. Snape watched her with a bored, guarded sort of look that made her want to punch him, like Malfoy. She pivoted on her heel, without a word, and headed for the door.

“Miss Evans,” Snape called from his desk.

Ariel turned around, her heart giving an excited start.

“If I find out you’ve gone anywhere near that third floor corridor again,” his voice was like a riptide, pulling mercilessly, making itself known, threatening to drag her somewhere deep and dark and untouchable. “I will make you regret it.”

She did not nod, or say _yes, sir,_ or even turn away. Ariel swallowed the lump that had formed in the throat, and thought about her mum’s lost letter.

_don’t give a damn what anyone thinks_

“She mentioned you.” said Ariel. “I thought you’d want to know.”

In the meantime, she was just going to have to land herself another detention.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I apologize for the delay in an update. As some of you know, I'm a teacher, and the end of this school year was nothing short of chaos. I hope to be back to more regular updates for the remainder of the summer! 
> 
> If you'd like more info/updates, my Tumblr is also my penname. 
> 
> Reviews are really, super appreciated. Stay safe out there, everyone! x


	6. axe to grind

Severus waited until the girl had left to start throwing things.

He broke the lamp on his desk, a potted plant Dumbledore had given him three Christmas’ ago, and an entire row of potions ingredients. He’d cut his hand on something in the process, but he didn’t care. Severus barely felt it. All that mattered was the hammering of Lily-things’ words in his ears, the echo they’d cast in his classroom, and the darkest, most secret place in his tattered heart. Severus couldn’t begin to fathom how’d they gotten to this point, where this most precious thing, his sole motivation for everything he did for the past decade, was suddenly a newfound knowledge to Lily’s daughter.

_Stupid stupid STUPID GIRL how did she know what did she KNOW SHE KNEW SOMETHING —_

There was another loud _CRACK_ as Severus tossed the carving knife the girl had used to gut the toads at the wall. It ricocheted off, leaving a mark on the stone. He could see blood on the handle from where he’d cut his hand. It ran down his arm, splattering to the floor as Severus threw his arm out again, clearing the contents of his desk in one swoop. That little _brat,_ this… _thing_ that looked and talked like Lily, but _not-Lily,_ with her damn questions and longing for something Severus could not — would not — give her.

Why did it have to be _him?_ Why had Lily-thing come to _him,_ of all the fucking people? Was this really only because she’d overheard him shouting at Dumbledore about Petunia?

No. It wasn’t. 

Lily’s letter.

Of course she’d left something for the girl. Lily would have made sure that Lily-thing knew she was loved and cherished, especially if Lily thought there was even a _chance_ she wouldn’t be there to tell the girl herself. What the sodding _fuck_ did _Severus_ have to do with it? There was no comprehensible reason Lily should have said _anything_ about him, _especially_ to her and Potter’s _child._ Lily had hated him, resented him, been disgusted with him. Lily had wanted nothing to do with Severus, and rightfully so. Severus had screwed _that_ up royally, and even then, Lily was smart. She would’ve known he’d joined the Death Eaters, and if the Dark Lord had been after her baby…

Severus sat with his face in his hands. He hadn’t spoken to Lily after that day in fifth year, when she’d gone back through the Portrait Door and left him sitting there in self-loathing and despair. There had only been looks from there on out, terrible, awful looks that bordered on hatred, but with an edge of sadness that he couldn’t place. Was it regret that Lily had ever known him, or that he still existed?

Severus had never been able to figure it out, but he’d avoided her like the plague, especially once she’d started dating Potter. The only other time after that had been during one of the few battles against the Order Severus had actively taken part in, months after they’d graduated from Hogwarts. He’d seen Lily there, battling with Bellatrix, when Lily had gone flying back, Bellatrix’s wand raised to deliver a final blow, and something inside of Severus he thought long dead took control of him like he was a man possessed. Lily hadn’t recognized him, though, when he’d saved her… he’d been wearing the mask… and Dumbledore wouldn’t have told Lily and Potter, no…

What the sodding _fuck_ could Lily have _POSSIBLY —_

He should have known there would be _some_ sort of reckoning, a return, even though Lily was gone. It was inevitable that it would lead her daughter there, to this… this _blood_ trail. And it was a blood trail, because Severus had murdered Ariel Evans’ parents. Severus was going to find out — _no._

_NO —_

He didn’t want to know. He didn’t want to touch _whatever_ this… _thing_ was with a ten foot fucking pole. Love was a terrible, terrible thing. You wore your heart outside of your body with no skin, no bones, nothing to protect it. He wouldn’t entertain this… _curiosity_ the girl had. It wasn’t his responsibility. Severus had pledged his life to the girl, to this Lily- _thing_ that was the last of her, but he would not pander to whatever childish fantasies she held close to that incomprehensible little heart of hers. Merlin only knew…

But then again, it was the things one could not see coming that were strong enough to kill them. Severus was terrified of what Lily-thing knew now, of what she _still_ wasn’t telling him. He was going to make that girl pay, Severus decided, a dark thought moving through his thoughts, like a shadow. He’d make her regret ever seeking him out, for telling him about her mother’s damn _letter._

(how could he go on, without knowing what Lily had said, there was no reason for her to be saying _ANYTHING)_

Severus flung another jar at the wall, his irritation growing when he did not feel any satisfaction at the glass shards littering the stone floor. He couldn’t destroy his classroom, but he couldn’t simply _leave this alone_ now, either. Lily-thing had gone back up to her blasted Tower, probably feeling smug and important.

He could destroy this… need to talk to him, the curiosity.

_Curiosity killed the cat_

Until Severus figured out what that little shit did and did not know…

Dumbledore _had_ asked him to keep an eye on Quirrell, hadn’t he?

* * *

The next morning, Ariel awoke feeling as if she hadn’t gotten an ounce of sleep. Her dreams had been plagued with poor dead-toads and Snape’s sneering face glaring down at her, telling her to hurry up, that he had to go and check on the Stone, but the bucket was endless, and the more toads she gutted, the angrier dream-Snape became.

 _“I’m not your father,”_ he’d kept saying to her. _“Don’t get it twisted.”_

She rubbed the grit out of her eyes, meeting Hermione’s as they both slid out of bed, looking equally exhausted. It was almost midnight by the time Ariel had returned from Snape’s detention. Ron and Hermione had waited up for her, but they'd dozed off a couple of times, they’d sheepishly admitted. Ariel didn’t blame them. Once the adrenaline had worn off, she had felt completely knackered herself.

They’d managed to stay awake long enough for Ariel to tell them what had happened, about the Stone, and Snape’s weird not-really-answers to very direct questions. Ron had told her to burn the letter and be done with it _(Snape’s a git, Ariel, you’re better off)_ while Hermione had endorsed Snape’s advice to go and talk to Professor Flitwick about how to undo her mother’s protection charm on the letter. Ariel had nearly forgotten to tell them about the Stone, which only added to the collective confusion between all three of them. While Ariel felt good about knowing that Snape had in fact known and been friends with her mum, this whole Stone business with Fluffy and the forbidden third floor corridor was an added layer Ariel didn’t know how to categorize just yet.

Why was Snape so adamant about her staying away (besides Fluffy?). Why was the Stone being kept at Hogwarts, and _who_ the heck was trying to _steal_ it?

Ariel filed those questions away for later. There were more pressing matters to attend to, anyway.

(Like landing herself another detention with Snape)

“How’re you feeling?” Hermione asked as Ariel bent down to pull on her shoes — she’d put them on the wrong feet the first time.

She didn’t know how to answer that. Ariel felt… _better,_ but not really. She wanted to talk to Snape again, but she was afraid that he might’ve snapped after she’d left. Ariel had spent the whole trip back to Gryffindor Tower looking over her shoulder, afraid _(hoping hoping hoping)_ that Snape would be charging after her. He hadn’t, though.

“Okay,” Ariel shrugged, grabbing her rucksack. “I’m going to go and talk to Professor Flitwick after class today, to see if he can help.”

Hermione beamed, like Ariel had told her she had decided to read next years’ assigned readings. “That’s a brilliant idea. What are you going to tell him?”

“Nothing specific.” she wasn’t going to tell anyone anything. All she needed was another professor telling Snape the truth — something told her that wouldn’t go over very well. Truthfully, Ariel had gone back and forth over telling Professor Dumbledore, but something held her back. She felt guilty over taking the letter without telling him first. He’d been so kind, returning her mum’s trunk to her after saving her from the Dursleys. Dumbledore was brilliant, and could probably help but… Ariel wasn’t important enough. Surely overseeing a magic castle took up most of his time — she didn’t want to bother him.

Hermione gave a quick nod. “I agree. If anyone will be able to help, it’ll be him.”

“I sure hope so.” Ariel’s heart ache with longing to have her mum’s words back. She wanted the lopsided _t’s_ and the _l’s_ Mum only wrote in cursive.

“It’ll be okay.” Hermione reassured her. “We can look into this Stone, in the meantime. Want to meet in the library after lunch? We can all go together and see if we can find anything.”

The Stone — as much as it had made her brain hurt last night — was a welcome distraction from Snape. The idea of reading through more books, however, made her eyes burn at the very thought. They had to start somewhere, though, especially if Snape was suspicious of them. “Yes, but —”

Ariel was about to tell Hermione that she had no idea what this magic Stone _did_ (Ariel figured there were various types, since magic Stones seemed like something that would be in abundance) when Lavender, Parvati, and Fay walked in from the bathrooms. Ariel told Hermione with her eyes that they’d discuss this once they were alone, and Hermione nodded in acknowledgment. The other girls didn’t even look in Ariel’s direction. Lavender was still furious with Ariel for taking down the collage they’d spent so much time putting together. Ariel had a stinking suspicion that her dad _(not dad, not James)_ wasn’t on display for Lavender and Parvati to fawn over anymore.

She quickly pulled on her robes, pulling her red curls back into a ponytail as Hermione prepared for battle with her own. Usually she had Ariel try and brush it out in the morning, but they were already late for breakfast. Ariel’s hair had grown out enough that she was finally able to tie it back. It was constantly falling in her face, especially while she was working, and it drove her bonkers.

On the other side of the room, Lavender and Parvati were trading bracelets, like they did every day, even though they always ended up choosing the same ones. They were always generous when it came to loaning Ariel things, but she had a strange feeling they were trying to fix something that Ariel didn’t think was broken. They had been dumbfounded when she’d told them she didn’t have pierced ears. Ariel had tried to do it herself once, just to get back at Aunt Petunia for ripping up the artwork that had been on display at Meet-the-Teacher night. She’d stolen her pearls and attempted to do it in the bathroom during Dudley’s birthday party, but one of the mothers had come upstairs and nearly fainted at the sight of blood in the sink. It hadn’t even been that much, but Aunt Petunia had let her have it later, after assuring all the other horrified parents that Ariel was “mentally disturbed, but harmless.”

That last part described Snape to a tee. Maybe that's where she got it from. He _was_ mental, but if Snape was as awful as everyone thought he was, he would’ve made her scorch mark on the wall after that detention. He hadn’t, though, something had held him back.

Something that had to do with her mum.

_Something like that_

Ariel and Hermione met Ron downstairs in the Common Room, right in front of the couch Ariel had left them last night, before bed. He looked as tired as they did, but also anxious. Ron had been pacing the length of the rug when he’d caught sight of them.

“Hey,” Ron greeted them with a tight smile. “Any luck?”

He was referring to the notebooks. Ariel and Hermione had told Ron they were going to try and search a little while longer after Ron had turned in for the night, but the exhaustion of the day had been too much to keep going.

“Nothing,” Hermione shook her head. “We didn’t try much longer after you left. We were exhausted.”

“It’s no use, anyway.” Ariel said with a sigh. “I don’t think Mum would’ve written it down anywhere someone else could find it.”

“So what’s next?” Ron asked.

“I’m going to talk to Professor Flitwick about it.” said Ariel, slipping the letter out from her rucksack. She’d tucked it inside her Charms textbook for now. She was secretly afraid that the letter would return to normal while she was gone.

“Don’t bring it with you!” Ron whispered loudly. “Are you mad?”

“Well I can’t leave it here!” Ariel shot back. “What if someone finds it?”

“Like who?”

“I don’t want to take any chances.” she gave him A Look. “Besides, I have to show it to Flitwick if he’s going to be able to help at all. Maybe he’ll know how to break the protection charm.”

Ron made another disagreeing sound. All three of them looked to his stomach when it voiced it’s opinion, much louder than Ron’s.

“Let’s go,” Hermione said, taking Ariel’s hand. “I’m starving too.”

Ariel slipped her mum’s letter back into the textbook, following Hermione’s lead out of the Portrait. The Fat Lady was singing this morning, a lot louder than usual. They had to cram their hands over their ears as they passed through. Even once they got to the bottom of the stairs, they could still hear her trying to serenade whoever was unfortunate enough to pass. A group of Ravenclaws stopped to listen, giving each other questioning looks as Ariel, Hermione, and Ron moved past them.

Sunlight poured into the Great Hall, its rays like threads, weaving their way high above their heads. Outside, she could see flecks of something that looked like snow whizzing past. It was only November first, but it had been so chilly, especially up here in the highlands of Scotland. Ariel hadn’t liked snow much, especially when she’d been living at the Dursleys. They’d never allow her to go play in it, which meant snow days and nights were spent entertaining herself, alone in her cupboard.

Ariel barely tasted the toast she’d taken from the center of the table, although Hermione had pointed out that she was eating it with nothing smothered on it. Usually she opted for raspberry jam, but she really wasn’t hungry. Ariel exhaled through her nose, and courageously glanced up at the High Table, expecting to be smited instantly. 

Snape was not there.

This gave Ariel a nasty shock. Snape was _always_ there. She knew this because she usually waved to Hagrid every morning, and sometimes, Snape was right next to him. Ariel made sure not to do it if that was the case, because after the Sorting, when she’d _almost_ waved at him, and he’d thrown daggers as sharp as glass at her, Ariel had learned that Snape wanted nothing to do with her.

This made her feel incredibly small as she smashed her eggs with a spoon.

She had Charms _and_ Potions today. That meant she was going to have to see Snape after what she’d said to him last night. The only plus about this was that she’d be able to get that detention sooner rather than later. Ariel had to figure out what had happened between Snape and her mum, because, somehow, only through mental gymnastics, Ariel knew that it had somehow resulted in her being born.

“Air-ree-ella!” Fred sang as he sat down beside her. “How’re you doing, ol’ sport? We heard from Ronniekins that you landed yourself in detention with Snape last night!”

Ariel wanted to smash her face against the plate. “Yeah, something like that.”

“Popped that cherry, didn’t ya?” George grinned. “Congrats. There should be a prize once you get the first one over with. A consolation.”

Angelina Johnson gave him a horrible look from a few seats down, one that told him to shut up. The twins didn’t seem to notice.

“What’d he have you do?” Fred asked, trying to balance a fork on his finger. Hermione gasped as he turned, pretending to jab George with it, like he was a pirate wielding a sword. “Anything particularly unpleasant?”

“Gutting toads.” Ariel said tonelessly. Her hands still smelt like their insides, even after scrubbing at her hands both last night _and_ this morning. Ariel tried to imagine the twins finding out Snape was her dad. They’d be relentless, not to mention that they’d probably never look at her the same.

“Yuck,” George made a face. “He made us scrape off… what was it, Fred? Flobberworms?”

“Yeah, something like that.” Fred made a gagging sound that caused a group of Hufflepuffs to turn around to see what was happening. “Toads guts are definitely worse, though.”

“Yes, thank you.” Hermione said, shooing them away. “It was awful enough without you two making her relive it.”

Ron ate the eggs and scone Ariel still hadn’t touched, which made her feel awfully silly. She remembered days at the Dursleys when she would’ve killed for a meal, and now, passing up food felt like a sin. Ariel had never been the type to eat if she wasn’t hungry, though. Weirdly enough, while she was dreading seeing Snape later on today she was also… excited. Ariel suspected it wouldn’t take much to get him to assign her another detention, but Hermione and Ron were going to think she’d gone absolutely barmy. Her stomach was too anxious to eat — it felt like a swarm of pixies were playing dodgems. Neville joined them at some point, already a nervous wreck about Potions later on today. Ron had told Ariel and Hermione he had nightmares about Snape. That was something they had in common, Ariel thought to herself, while Hermione reassured Neville that she’d help him as best she could today.

“Well well, if it isn’t _Evans.”_ said The Worst Voice in the History of the Entire Universe. “It’s a shame she didn’t get clobbered by that mountain troll, but she sure does look like one today, doesn’t she?”

Ariel was going to stick her fork in Malfoy’s neck, she’d decided, when Ron nearly flung himself over the table to get at Malfoy. Luckily, Fred and George hadn’t gone far, and pulled him back before a professor could see. She didn’t have the patience to deal with him today. Most times, Ariel ignored him, and that seemed to do the trick. Malfoy was a lot like Dudley in the sense that if you didn’t acknowledge them, they were relatively harmless. The difference was that Dudley was pretty stupid, and had the attention span of an acorn, while Malfoy brooded and found ways to exact revenge that would _make_ Ariel have to fight back.

She rounded on him, swinging her legs around the bench without standing. “Go away, Malfoy. Shouldn’t you be patrolling for more people to snitch on?”

Malfoy’s hair was perfectly gelled back, as usual, and he wore a sneer that seemed to be painted permanently on his smug, pointed face. Ron liked to call him a gremlin, which was very funny to Ariel and Hermione. Pansy Parkinson was on his left, Millicent Bulstrode next to her. If Malfoy wasn’t bothering her, it was probably because the Slytherin girls were. Pansy _loved_ to talk (very loudly) about how ugly Ariel’s hair was, how she looked like a boy, and her height. If Malfoy wasn’t calling her Red Cap, Pansy had taken to calling her Bug. Ariel wouldn’t lower herself to name calling, but Pansy looked like a pug, and Millicent resembled a pitbull-bulldozer hybrid. Crabbe and Goyle were still eating, and Ariel secretly wished they were flanking Malfoy instead of the Slytherin girls. Crabbe and Goyle only offered supportive laughs when it came to Malfoy harrassing Gryffindors. Pansy _actively_ took part in it.

Malfoy gave Ariel a satisfied smirk. “Enjoy your detention, then?”

“You know you set us up.” Ariel said coolly. “Telling Snape we out past curfew was real low.”

“Bested you, do you mean?” Malfoy’s grin widened. “I’ll take that as a compliment, Red Cap.”

“She could use a cap, Draco.” Pansy snickered. “Someone needs to cover that mess on her head.”

Ariel wanted to knock their pearly white teeth out, but restrained herself. “Somebody needs to cover _your_ mouth. Nobody likes a tattletale.”

“Piss off, Malfoy.” Ron shot from the other side of the table. “You know Ariel would’ve knocked your arse flat.”

“I don’t think so,” Malfoy sneered. “you can barely fly a broom, what makes you think you could best me in a duel? I did you a favor, really. Everyone knows Gryffindors are all show, anyway.”

“At least I showed up.” Ariel stood up — she was half a foot shorter than him, but Malfoy didn’t scare her. “Guess I shouldn’t be surprised. Everyone knows Slytherins are cowards, _anyway.”_

Pansy opened her mouth, probably to say something about the color of Ariel’s hair, or how her freckles were probably acne scars, when the whole group turned to see Professor McGonagall heading towards them, her mouth set in a firm line. The Slytherins scattered like cockroaches when exposed to light. Ariel sat back down at the table, turning back to the scone she’d turned to a pile of crumbs when Professor McGonagall passed, the breeze noticeably chillier.

Ariel filed those insults away, for later.

* * *

After a Charms class that was blessedly free of Slytherins, Ariel stayed behind to speak to Professor Flitwick. Today had only been a lecture, which had made it very difficult to stay focused in class with everything on her mind. Instead of listening to Professor Flitwick drabble on and on about… what Charm had it been again? Well, it didn’t matter, Hermione would be more than happy to tell Ariel all about it later on. Hermione spent the class with her nose to the parchment, taking down notes word for word. It had gotten to a point where Hermione’s writing had drowned out Professor Flitwick, even. The only sound Ariel heard was the _scratchscratchscratch_ of her quill, and so, she’d decided to do some writing of her own.

Ariel strained her memory of the original letter, trying to write it down, to recreate it. She now realized the irony in criticizing how short it was, when she herself could not even recall the opening line. Ariel certainly knew what was _inside_ it, but she couldn’t begin to try and dictate word for word what Mum had said exactly. She felt stupid and silly, the only thought in her mind playing like a record on repeat: _what if Snape asks what if Snape asks what if Snape asks…_

She didn’t know what’d she say to him. Snape knowing her mum didn’t necessarily mean he was definitely her dad, but at the same time, wasn’t it silly to question the letter at this point? Mum _had_ written it, and Snape _had_ known her, been friends with her. The thought made her brain feel fuzzy, trying to picture the two of them having an actual conversation. Even if Snape _was_ her dad, it didn’t take away the fact that he was horrible. He bullied the Gryffindors and made Neville cry. He had accused Ariel of trying to steal that secret Stone and had insulted her. Imagining Snape being anything… _more_ than Mum’s friend was like putting her head in a vise. Mum had been beautiful, kind, brave. Snape was… none of those things, except maybe the latter. She couldn’t say that one for herself just yet.

If Snape _had_ been friends with Mum though… why did he ignore Ariel so much? The only times he’d ever spoken to Ariel were when he’d saved her from the Dursleys, and when the troll had cornered them. That was it. Ariel tried hard to think about what those two things had in common, but she couldn’t…

Maybe Mum had Obliviated _all_ of their memories? No — that couldn’t be true, Snape had _said_ he’d known Mum. But if he remembered… none of this made _sense._ Ariel couldn’t even begin to put the two of them into a romantic relationship. Adults were so bloody weird, Snape being the weirdest of them all.

It was the shuffling of footsteps and chairs scraping against the floor that brought Ariel back to the present, where she found Professor Flitwick dismissing the class. Ariel hadn’t written down a single thing on Charms today, just some chicken scratch that wasn’t even legible to her when reading it over. She scowled down at the parchment, smashing it into a ball before tossing it into the nearest rubbish bin. Hermione looked at her in horror, but Ariel just shook her head.

“You go on ahead,” Ariel said. “I’ll meet you at lunch.”

“You don’t want us to stay?” Hermione asked nervously, shooting a glance at Ron, who was already halfway out the door. He’d started doodling pictures of sandwiches about halfway through, and then, a very unflattering picture of Filch.

“No, I’ll be quick.” Ariel promised. “Five minutes, tops. We’re still going to the library, right? Before Potions?”

Hermione gave her a reluctant nod. “I don’t mind staying.”

“I don’t want to make a big deal out of it.”

A look of understanding crossed over her face. “Good idea. I’ll save you a seat, yeah?”

Ariel smiled, turning her attention towards the front of the room, where Professor Flitwick was shuffling behind his desk. She loved the Charms classroom — it was so bright and airy. Ariel especially loved when they did demonstrations. When they’d done Levitation spells, Ariel had looked around the room at all the floating feathers in awe, wondering how she’d been so lucky to have gotten here, to that moment.

“Do you have a moment, Professor?” Ariel asked, shifting her textbooks to one side. “I’d like to talk to you about something.”

Professor Flitwick looked up from his desk, shuffling his gradebook to the corner of his desk. It was very neat, Ariel noted, very different from Snape’s. His was full of so much clutter it was a wonder he could still sit and write at it. “Of course, my dear, but do make it fast. I have a meeting with the Headmaster in a few minutes.”

Her heart gave a funny little jump at the mention of Professor Dumbledore. Ariel wanted so badly to talk to him again. “Of course. It’s just a Protection Charm I’m trying to break. It’s been giving me a little bit of trouble.”

He stopped what he was doing to give her a half amused, half stern look. “Something accidental that belongs to _you,_ I hope.”

“Oh, yes, of course, sir.” Ariel said, feeling stupid. “It’s been put on a letter from my mum that she wrote to me. When I first opened it, it read just fine, but yesterday it… it all disappeared, except for some riddle she left. Hermione thought I should talk to you about it.”

“Smart girl,” Professor Flitwick chuckled. “but a letter from your mother, you say?”

Ariel nodded, her hands shaking as she reached into her rucksack, slipping the letter out to show him.

“Your mother was one of the brightest witches I’ve ever taught.” Fliwick said, smiling warmly down at the parchment, like it was a picture of Lily waving up at him. “She wanted to be a Healer, you know. She certainly had a knack for Charms and Curse-breaking. Such a quick wit, that girl. She had an answer for everything.”

Normally, Ariel would have been leaping down his throat to hear more, but it made her uncomfortable, given the current situation. “Professor McGonagall said she was Head Girl.”

“That she was.” his eyes sparkled at the memory, like he’d gone back there to see it for himself. “But I digress. Let me take a look, Miss Evans.” 

Professor Flitwick bent over, steading himself on the tabletop (which was very high off the ground in comparison to his height) and squinted. He hm’d several times as Ariel nails dug into her palms, trying to keep herself from losing her patience. After a moment, Professor Flitwick unsheathed his wand, murmuring spells Ariel couldn’t make out. Bolts of green and yellow and purple hung above the letter, twinkling and shimmering like sleigh bells. They pulsed as a heartbeat does.

 _Where do we go when we walk on light?_ Ariel didn’t even know where to begin with it.

“This type of spell is tailored to the person the letter is intended for.” Professor Flitwick lectured, tracing his wand over the parchment, the tip lighting up a sky blue. “That would be you, Miss Evans. Upon opening it, the spell… how can I put this? It _reads_ you, in a way, much like how you read _it._ There’s a connection formed there, and the spell is attuned to what you need.”

Ariel blinked in confusion. “So it’s… alive?”

“No, no… hm, yes, this is tricky.” the lines of Professor Flitwick’s mouth drooped, but his eyes were excited. “Your mother wrote this letter to you, yes? There are traces of her magic here, of the emotional bond she had with you when she was still alive. That type of relationship does not fade, the magic built into it, even though she is no longer with us. Once you opened the letter and read it, the ‘letter,’ which was really your mother’s Charm handiwork, was able to see what you needed emotionally, once you concluded reading. It seemed that although you had read it and understood the contents, it no longer felt the need to be manifested physically. For example, did you happen to share this letter with anyone? Miss Granger and Mr Weasley, perhaps?”

Ariel nodded.

“Ah well, that is why it did not initially fade. It knew you would need to show it to Miss Granger and Mr Weasley, knew you trusted them and needed to share its contents with them. It knew you would need support.” Professor Flitwick looked like a kid on Christmas morning. “Fascinating stuff, really.”

Ariel’s head spun. “So you’re saying that the letter — er — _Mum_ put this Charm on it so that the _letter_ would know what I needed to… understand it?”

“Exactly.” Professor Flitwick beamed.

“So then… how do I solve the riddle?” Ariel asked.

“This type of Charm can only be broken by speaking the response aloud to it.” Professor Flitwick smiled sadly, clicking his tongue in disappointment. “I wish I could be of more help, my dear, but your mother did a number on this one. There was nothing in the original that hinted at what it could be?”

“Nothing,” Ariel muttered, her disappointment insurmountable. “I’ve been trying but…”

“I must ask, Miss Evans,” Professor Flitwick looked at her seriously, as if he was about to ask her if she’d done something wrong. “was there something… _important_ that your mother wrote to you? Such spells are oftentimes meant to conceal information that could be harmful to others.”

Her heart skipped a beat. “No Professor, it was just… personal.”

His face softened. “I see. Well, if you find any clues, do let me know. I’d be happy to insist in any way I can. My only regret is that I couldn’t help more…”

“It’s okay,” Ariel managed a wobbly smile. “Thank you for your help anyway, Professor. It did explain a lot.”

“It was my pleasure, my dear girl.”

Ariel trudged away dejectedly. What was she supposed to do _now?_

* * *

Severus was thinking about slipping some firewhiskey into his second cup of coffee for the day when Minerva walked into the staff room, which was otherwise blissfully empty.

Sprout was fretting over a new crop of Shrivelfig that had begun to take earlier that week, the others undoubtedly moseying around the castle, taking their sweet time to make their way here. Severus wasn’t complaining, an empty staff room meant he wouldn’t have to entertain mundane conversations. He’d secretly been hoping that Quirrell would appear before anyone else, but that was wishful thinking, and Minerva, being Minerva, had of course, found him. She’d been sending him notes all morning, which Severus had gladly ignored.

Severus had a feeling Quirrell would be avoiding the staff room (and Severus) for a very long time. Last nights’ encounter hadn’t done anything to curb Severus’ wrath, but it had aided him in channeling at least some of it. If that bumbling idiot had anything to do with whoever was trying to steal the fucking Stone, Severus was a Hufflepuff. Quirrell had cowered and stuttered his way through excuses, but deep down, as much as Severus loathed to admit it, if Dumbledore was suspicious, Quirrell probably wasn’t as innocent as he was portraying himself to be.

“Good afternoon, Severus,” Minerva said stiffly as she sat down across from him. Severus could automatically tell that she was here to speak with him about something specific, probably on a subject that Severus would loathe discussing — like Granger. Or perhaps Minerva was still upset by the troll incident. In that case he was (almost) glad at least one other member of the staff had any sort of sense. He was, however, disappointed that Minerva didn’t have enough sense to leave him alone. “I didn’t see you at breakfast this morning. Are you feeling alright?”

Severus grunted in response, not bothering to look up from his mug.

Minerva raised an eyebrow. “A verbal response would suffice, Severus.”

He would certainly not tell her that he’d harassed a fellow staff member in the middle of the night, and he would most certainly not tell her that he’d sat at his desk until dawn pondering what the sodding fuck Lily could have possibly written to her daughter that had _anything_ to do with him. The thought was burrowing deeper and deeper into Severus’ psyche, an itch he needed to scratch, one that not even his Occlumency could keep out. Lily had that prophetic affect on him. No matter how hard Severus tried, and he tried, (oh how he tried) he could not rid himself of thinking of her on the daily since Severus had found Lily-thing in that blasted closet.

Dumbledore would have told Severus it was his greatest strength. It felt like failure, because Severus had done so to her, to her child, time and time again. 

“I’m fine.” he said shortly. “I had papers to grade.”

“You mean desecrate.” Minerva gave him a thin smile.

“They get what they deserve.” Severus snipped back. “If even half of the little dimwits put any sort of thought into the assignments, I —” _still wouldn’t give them high marks._ “— would certainly consider giving them grades that reflect it.”

“It’s usually not until late February that you’re this… _ornery.”_

Severus had the girl after lunch. He planned on making it a particularly unpleasant class for the Gryffindors. If Granger so much as looked in his direction, Severus was going to dock them fifty points. He couldn’t take Lily-thing’s dark eyes watching his every move, like she had last night. Those eyes weren’t Potter’s, no, and for that Severus was grateful. He didn’t know if he could handle seeing a little amalgam of Potter and Lily that manifested in the form of their spawn. She was the last of Lily, and Severus had sworn to protect her, yes, but that didn’t mean he was going to put up with this _nonsense_ that felt a lot like blackmail.

“Miss Granger has the innate ability to cause migraines.” Severus said, taking another sip of his coffee, wishing more than ever that it was spiked. “Longbottom is useless. The boy can barely hold a ladle.”

“That would fix itself if you stopped scaring the poor boy out of his wits.” her face darkened. “The students tell me you terrorize him.”

“The students are hardly reliable.” They were, Severus had zero patience for the boy. If he didn’t learn how to get his fear under control — it truly was a marvel the brat was in Gryffindor — then he’d end up hurting himself, or someone else, and it was _not_ going to happen in Severus’ classroom. That was far too much paperwork.

“Speaking of Miss Granger,” Minerva said, and Severus suddenly felt like a mouse that had been cornered by a feline. “I wanted to inquire about Miss Evans’ detention last night. How did you fare with her?”

Of course she did. Everything lately was becoming about Miss Evans. Severus had experienced enough of Lily-thing in the last forty-eight hours to last ten lifetimes.

Severus set the mug down, his knuckles cracking around the handle. “She’s meddlesome.”

Minerva raised an eyebrow at him. “Come now, Severus. I still don’t understand why you found it necessary to give the girl detention for something completely out of her control.”

Ah — _that_ was what this was about. Normally, Minerva would give Severus the cold shoulder if she thought Severus was being unfair (which he usually was), but this was, after all, Lily-thing they were talking about. Minerva would never admit it, but she had a soft spot for the child.

_Because they died_

_You said Aunt Petunia hated Mum because Mum had magic_

“The girl needed to be taught a lesson.” Severus said stiffly. “She was not forthcoming with her true whereabouts.”

Minerva sighed, drumming her hands on the tabletop. “Severus, not everything is —”

The door opened, and Severus’ eyes flickered to the doorway as Dumbledore entered with Flitwick. The old man’s robes were an offending neon yellow today, gold tassels embroidered on the inside. A pegasus was stitched onto both arms. It hurt Severus’ eyes to look at him. The mere fact that Dumbledore wore robes like that was offensive on every level imaginable.

“… letter is quite advanced.” Flitwick was saying. “Ariel was quite adamant about keeping it to herself, but I found it rather peculiar —”

Severus sat up like his spine had been electrocuted. He whirled around in his seat, his heart slamming against his ribs. Dumbledore was bent over, hands clasped behind his back, listening intently as Flitwick waddled forward, seating himself on the sofa beside the fireplace. The fire popped and crackled heartily, casting their shadows along the walls behind them. Minerva was still speaking, rambling on about Lily-thing’s detention, but she sounded like she was underwater.

“Did Ariel mention what it said?” Dumbledore asked, his bushy eyebrows knitted together in deep thought.

“No, only that it was personal. I did ask, Headmaster, but Miss Evans seemed very aloof about the whole thing, and very disappointed when I told her there wasn’t anything I could do.” Flitwick sighed, waving his hands as a teacup settled itself on the table in front of the, the spoon stirring in sugar cubes. “The poor girl, I can only imagine losing something like that, something precious that's just within reach…”

The old man nodded, a sad look painted on his face. “Were you able to give her any guidance, Filius?”

Flitwick shook his head. “Unfortunately not, the protection charm Lily placed on the letter can only be broken by speaking the correct response out loud. The peculiar thing is — and I didn’t tell Miss Evans this, she was already quite upset — that it doesn’t appear to be directed to her at all. It seems like it needs to be spoken aloud by someone _else_ , which doesn’t make any sense to me, Albus. The girl had no clue what the countercharm could be. The letter is ingrained with magic all tied to her, but the protection charm is not… very odd indeed. Perhaps Lily meant it for James?”

Severus' chest clenched painfully. He shoved the thought, the cold slap of reality, of his greatest fear come to pass, away from him. What the hell was the girl doing? What was in the damn letter Lily-thing was so desperate to restore?

Severus heard Minerva sigh in exasperation as she got up to leave.

… if Severus was mentioned in this letter, why WAS SHE SHOWING IT TO —

Before Severus’ head popped off his shoulders, Dumbledore looked straight at him, catching him in the act. Eavesdropping was nothing Severus was below, but he was usually much better at it, and this happened to be the worst possible thing Dumbledore could have caught him doing; listening to a conversation about Lily-thing.

Instead of inviting Severus to join the conversation, though Dumbledore’s eyes lit up, twinkling like fairy lights, the ice blue of his eyes aglow from the firelight. Severus could feel it then, an unspoken string of words between them, unraveling like yarn as Flitwick prattled on and on about Charmwork.

Dumbledore… _knew_ something about this.

Severus’ eyes narrowed dangerously as Dumbledore gave him a merry smile.

Just like the smile Lily-thing had given him on Halloween.

* * *

Ariel was still feeling down after her conversation with Professor Flitwick. When she’d sat down to lunch, she’d simply shaken her head at Hermione and Ron. They’d responded with shoving a plate of food at her, and telling her that Fred and George were planning something with dungbombs later that day. Ariel appreciated her trying to distract her before they went to the library, but her heart was so heavy she was surprised it was still working.

Snape had not been at lunch, either.

Ariel, Ron, and Hermione made it just in time for potions, and luckily, were able to avoid to queue outside that contained Slytherins. Malfoy had reserved that time to goad Ron, while Pansy made fun of Hermione’s front teeth and Ariel’s boy-hair. Ariel was always pretty proud of herself for not socking them and giving them big fat lips, but she knew those Slytherins would take a bruise if it meant landing Ariel in detention.

 _You could’ve used that today,_ said a small voice in her brain. _Two birds, one stone._

She really, really hated them. Almost as much as the Dursleys, but they held a special place that not even Malfoy could touch. Ariel still wished she could’ve seen their faces when they’d returned home from their stupid, fancy dinner.

Unfortunately, the trio were the last ones in the room, which meant they earned themselves a round of snickers from Slytherins, and a horrible, warning glare from Snape. They’d barely made it in time, but it had been worth it. Hermione had found something about a Stone… a Stone that granted one immortality. Ariel couldn’t wrap her head around someone living forever like that, or how someone had invented an object so powerful that it kept you from dying. It sounded too good to be true, but then again, Ariel lived in a magic castle with ghosts and three-headed dogs and giant squids. Hermione was just as excited, though, while Ron had looked incredibly uneasy at the prospect of the Philosopher’s Stone being held _here._

“Of all the classes to risk being late to,” Ron hissed as they hurried inside. _“why_ did it have to be this one?”

Normally, Ariel sat with Neville during class to keep him from having a heart attack. She’d done this after the first Potions class, when Neville had been a shaking mess, barely able to squeak out a coherent sentence. Malfoy had laughed so hard that Ariel thought he’d break a rib (she really wished he had), and so Ariel had sat with Neville from there on, managing to keep Snape mostly at bay. Since Snape ignored her, this helped keep him away from Neville, repelling him like two magnets when you tried to press them together.

“You sit with Neville today,” Ariel whispered to Hermione, as she and Ron walked to their seats. “I have something I need to do.”

Hermione’s eyebrows furrowed together. “What do you mean?”

“Just trust me.” Ariel shot a glance at Snape, his eyes trying to put a hole in her forehead. He was definitely mad about last night. Hermione frowned, but she wasn’t in any position to argue, because everyone was staring right at them, now. She felt like a goldfish in a bowl.

Neville shot Ariel a panicked look as Hermione sat down next to him, while Ariel slid onto the stool next to Ron. She felt her heart squeeze with guilt, but Neville would be okay. If he was her partner this class, Snape would filet him like a fish for what Ariel was about to do, simply because he sat right next to her.

Snape was patrolling the class today, which _always_ made things significantly more unpleasant. Ariel couldn’t help but wonder if this was a consequence from their encounter last night. Normally, Snape would just sit behind his desk and glare at everyone, only rising if one of the Slytherins had a question — he made the Gryffindors walk up to his desk, which meant that none of them ever asked for assistance. When Snape decided to walk around, however, he’d throw insults left and right, most of them at Neville, even if he hadn’t done a thing — Ariel had a feeling Snape was very easily annoyed by fear, which made her feel very badly for poor Neville. Sometimes, Ariel found herself wanting to say something just as awful back at Snape, but then she remembered that he’d been the one to find her under that cupboard, and kept her mouth shut.

If your potion was fine, however, Snape wouldn’t say a word. Ariel usually held her breath when he passed by, but he barely glanced inside her cauldron. She guessed that was a good thing.

They were making a Forgetfulness Potion, which had been written out on the board, but Ariel had brought the Potions textbook too. She’d thought it peculiar that Snape’s directions differed from the textbook. Hermione never looked at the board, because an academic book being wrong meant Hermione’s world would collapse on itself.

Ariel watched Snape carefully as he moved — he hadn’t even addressed the class today to tell them how dimwitted and careless they were, how maybe only one of them would successfully brew a Forgetfulness Potion, while the rest of the class forgot how to read, which meant they probably shouldn’t be here. He’d simply pointed to the board, surveying the class with a scowl so potent that Ariel could’ve sworn the fetuses in those creepy jars quaked with fear.

Snape looked like a great bat, swooping around workbenches to startle even the Slytherins. Poor Neville was a wreck already, Hermione quietly dictating directions while taking things from his hands. No wonder Hermione and Ron argued so much during Potions — Hermione really did have to be in control of _everything_. Ariel loved her dearly for it, but she _liked_ Potions, and would’ve been bored out of her skull if Hermione did it all. It was probably for the best with Neville, though, in his current state.

Snape started with the Slytherins (because of course he did). Usually they didn’t say anything when he swept past, but today, Malfoy and Pansy must’ve been bored, because Pansy’s hand went out straight away. Whenever Ariel glanced in their direction (to look at Snape), Pansy would grin evilly, flicking the leftover moonseeds (which Malfoy had put in too early) at her and Ron. When Snape finally got to them, however, he said some intelligible, and nodded in approval.

Pansy beamed, and something inside of Ariel felt burning hot, like a pipe whistling as steam poured out of it. Her vision blurred as she quickly busied herself with watching the cauldron bubble, wiping her nose with her sleeve.

Ariel hated this, she realized. Maybe she even hated Snape.

“Are you okay?” Ron leaned close to her, giving Ariel a nudge. “Do you need —”

“Pass me the moonseeds, will you?” Ariel muttered back. Ron handed them to her, a concerned look written plainly on her face. That was when Snape noticed them, again.

She could feel it radiating off of Snape — the insult she’d been terrified of all this time, the culmination of the last two days finally coming to fruition, a scathing remark that would echo Aunt Petunia and Dudley and Uncle Vernon and Malfoy, but so, _so_ much worse…

 _For the greater good,_ Ariel thought to herself.

She picked up a handful of moonseeds, and chucked them straight at Malfoy’s stupid head.

Pansy screamed — one might’ve thought Ariel had taken off Malfoy’s entire upper half, by how she was carrying on. The room erupted into chaos, the Slytherins shouting at Ariel, while the rest of the Gryffindors quickly came to her aid, yelling right back at them. Ron was practically leaping over the workbench to get at Malfoy by the time Snape shot over, a billowing mass of rage.

Ariel didn’t even flinched as Snape bared down on her. She was expecting a little more, like how mad he’d been at the Dursleys, but this was still pretty darn scary. Perhaps she was becoming immune to it. Was that a thing?

“Miss Evans,” Snape hissed venomously. “just _what_ do you think you’re doing?”

Ariel looked him straight in the eye, trying to ignore how badly her hands shook. “He forgot the moonseeds go in after the bat spleen, sir.”

“I did not!” Malfoy fumed, shaking his hands through his tidy hair. Ariel tried not to snicker at his hair, which was sticky up in pointy directions. Malfoy looked like a ferret with a mohawk.

“He did,” Ariel said, biting back a smile.

“You’re an idiot, _Bug,”_ Malfoy sneered, his face glowing pink. “Stupid Glamour Girl, nothing inside that Mudbl—”

“And you’re a SLIMEBALL!” Ron roared back.

“ENOUGH!” Snape boomed, and Neville let out a moan that sounded like he was going to pass out from fright. With a flick of his wrist, all of the cauldrons evaporated (Hermione let out a gasp of horror) and then, Snape turned to Malfoy and Pansy.

“Miss Parkinson,” Snape’s voice was barely a whisper, so deathly quiet, like the sky before a hurricane. “you will take Mr Malfoy to the infirmary at once. The rest of you are going to stay _put,_ or so help me, I will make you regret ever being born.”

Pansy fretted over Malfoy as they headed out, the rest of the class so quiet that Ariel could’ve heard a pin drop. Malofy walked with a limp, holding onto Pansy for support. Ariel rolled her eyes. Snape did not turn until they had gone, and when he did, he moved like a panther. Ariel heard Ron exclaim a defiant “HEY!” before someone — probably Hermione — shushed him.

Snape grabbed Ariel’s wrist — _hard —_ and hauled her out the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Sorry this chapter is a few days late... life gets in the way sometimes. Reviews would go a super long way! xx


	7. for those below

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Previously: Snape's desire to read Lily's letter and to utilize planned ignoring are causing more problems than just the obvious. Meanwhile, Ariel is ready for answers, but she might be getting more than she bargained for...

Snape was a lot angrier than Ariel had originally estimated.

She’d clocked him at around an eight on the Snape-Anger scale, but now, alone with him in the corridor, Ariel had very clearly underestimated him. Snape had shot up to at least an eleven out of ten, the meter inside Ariel’s head blinking red and blue warning lights. She rubbed her wrist when Snape finally let go, glaring up at him, but very glad Pansy and Malfoy hadn’t been there to see Snape drag her out of the room like that. They never would have let her live that one down.

Snape rounded on her once the door had closed behind them. As soon as he let go of Ariel, he backed away, like her touch had burned him, but it was what twisted in his face made her forget about Snape’s inherent strangeness.

“I’m not sorry.” said Ariel, without even thinking. “I’d do it again.”

It was the truth, but for a split second, Ariel had considered that telling Snape her actual feelings might not have been the best course of action. She half expected his head to pop off his shoulders and land on the floor, like Nearly-Headless Nick’s did. Snape kind of looked like a Halloween character, although in that moment, he could’ve been a mannequin in a Muggle store advertising for the holiday. Snape’s body didn’t move, but his face did, like a summer squall racing across a spotless sky.

 _“Why_ is it,” Snape hissed down at her. “that whenever you find yourself in trouble, you choose to make it exponentially worse for yourself?”

“Probably because I’m a meddlesome Gryffindor.” Ariel guessed.

Snape didn’t seem to appreciate Ariel’s direct quote. His nostrils flared, his fists clenching at his sides. Ariel could’ve sworn the torches dimmed, just a little bit. Beneath the fiery gaze of Snape’s fury, something was shifting in his dark, pitless eyes. Ariel watched it move, like a shadow behind a curtain trying to pull the slit between them closed. She tried to follow it, wanting to catch it in her fist and keep it there so she could study and understand it, but Snape was searching her eyes too. Ariel wondered if he recognized them yet, even a little bit.

“You think you’re quite clever, don’t you?” Snape asked in a quiet voice. It made Ariel shiver at the same time her face flushed crimson.

“I wasn’t —”

“You think I don’t know what you’re doing.” Snape took a step forward, and Ariel unconsciously backed away. He seemed a lot taller all of a sudden, much bigger in his billowing black robes. His face was tight with anger, but The Something Ariel saw in his eyes was creeping out, peeking at her. “That I don’t know what you’re up to… and this time, I _don’t_ mean only breaking school rules.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she lied, but she did. Ariel had crossed Snape one too many times, had played with something she didn’t understand, and now, he was going to —

“Give me the letter.” said Snape.

Ariel’s heart stopped. “W-what? No!”

“It’s causing disruptions in my classroom,” Snape’s voice was cold and biting. “when you’re not wreaking havoc around the school. Give — it — to me. I know you have it.”

She looked around wildly, clutching her rucksack to her chest. Ariel wouldn’t let him take it — she WOULD NOT. Why couldn’t Snape just give her detention and send her off? He’d never sent a student out of the room before, not even when Lavender split a whole vial of Nebaz’s blood, which Snape had spent fifteen minutes lecturing them on how valuable it was, or when Neville shook so hard that if Ariel hadn’t known any better, she might’ve thought she was feeling the beginnings of an earthquake.

It was because Ariel had told Snape about her mum, she realized. _This_ was what Ariel had been waiting for last night, waiting to run into this morning at breakfast. Snape was going to make her sorry, like he’d promised on Halloween. He was going to make her regret asking about her mum, but _why… WHY_ did it matter if Ariel asked? What did Snape have to hide? Why couldn’t he just ask outright, and make everything so much _easier?_

Ariel stared up at Snape, desperately searching his eyes for that thing she’d seen, could sense rolling off of him. It wasn’t anger, Ariel could see now. The longer she looked up at him, trying to lock onto The Something that wasn’t masked as disgust or anger or frustration. The Something in his eyes was growing, a quiet desperation, much like her own. It reminded her of a single street post lit all by its lonesome, standing silent and unmoving in the darkness. How many times had Ariel stared through the windows of Dudley’s second bedroom, trying to feel that light beating on the other side?

“Please, don’t.” Ariel whispered. She hated how her voice shook, but it had stirred The Something, a surge in Snape’s bottomless black eyes that hurt to look at. Snape’s face stripped itself of all of the anger and contempt, until there was this… raw look of horror. All of Ariel’s organs seemed to seize up at once, the torches suddenly brighter. They bounced off of Snape’s bone-white face, the lines jagged and undefined, just like his expression.

Ariel held her rucksack tighter. _Have some fire have some fire have some fire —_

And then Snape moved. Ariel yelped, because he moved both like a tank and a cheetah, and was certain he was going to Transfigure her into a sock or something. Instead, Snape moved straight past her and slammed the door in her face. Before Ariel could react, Ron came stumbling out of the classroom, his face red and sweaty.

“I’m coming with you.” Ron said. “Snape can ground us into potions ingredients, but Merlin’s beard, that was bloody satisfying to watch.”

* * *

Severus dismissed the hoard of risible cretins early, and swept into his quarters. His mind had gone blank beneath the safety and reliability of his Occlumency, which meant that his classroom would not be a homicide crime scene (at least, not for today). He sent a note to Minerva to round up Lily-thing and the Weasley twerp for inciting chaos during his class, and fell into an armchair.

Occlumency carried Severus into a lull that was far between Lily’s daughter and his consciousness, way out to a calm, still sea of tranquility that was neither here nor there. There was no feeling there, no need to smash and break and bend like Severus had the night before. No magic hummed in the air, no swears fell from his mouth. He was set apart from the fiery rage that had made his teeth buzz while he watched Lily-thing chuck potions ingredients at Draco Malfoy’s face.

Severus had known it was going to happen when he saw contempt split down Lily-thing’s face like a zipper, revealing something that yearned for approval. It was usually well hidden by Lily-thing’s ability to look small and non-threatening, but Severus had seen how much of a Gryffindor Lily-thing really was when she’d thrown those moonseeds like her life depended on it.

Severus ought to have wrung Lily-thing’s neck for what she’d done in his class, let alone to one of his Slytherins. Draco was arrogant and insufferable to Lily-thing, yes, but if the girl made an enemy of the Malfoys, she was going to have bigger problems than name-calling. Severus knew what Draco and Parkinson did when his back was turned, yes, but it was harmless, for now. Not to mention that Lily-thing had completely undermined Severus’ authority in front of the little monsters, in front of the Gryffindors, that FOOLISH LITTLE —

It hadn’t been about the Slytherins, though. The amount of defiance in Lily-things small, thin face had been tainted with hope and anticipation. It was the kind that was created by provocation, and he’d landed right in her trap, just like Lily-thing had hoped. Severus had realized this on his gentle glide out to Occlumency sea.

He could see it clearly now, the longer he pondered it, the more he thought about Lily-thing’s strange and bizarre behavior since Halloween night. Lily-thing was trying to get Severus’ attention… was trying to get some sort of reaction out of him, but for what? Flitwick had said the brat was asking about her mother’s letter, which undoubtedly had something about Severus that he couldn't begin to guess. Lily-thing wanted to get to the bottom of it, and she was a determined child, unfortunately.

Determination had gotten her away from those wretched Muggle relatives. 

But that was far away from Severus, now, floating out on the untouched water, where he let himself bob in the swell of waves. He’d shoved it so far away from him, tucked tightly into his little box, that he no longer felt the murderous rage and the crushing ache of Lily-thing’s pleading. The look on her face had twisted his heart like a physical blow to it, leaving Severus both astonished and deeply disturbed. He’d tried to pin it down and figure the girl out, but there was something Severus was missing.

He had not seen Lily or Potter, or even a mixture of the two in their daughter’s face. Severus had seen only himself, the hunger of a child and the desperation to understand. Seveurs never should have asked the brat for the letter, no matter how much he wanted to read it and scare her into leaving him alone. The foundations of childhood always crumbled on their own, eventually. The girl would learn.

Severus went to speak to Dumbledore, then.

He contemplated how low his desperation must have sunk to seek out the old man in a time of emotional distress. This wasn’t something that happened often — it was unicorn-rare for Severus to willingly have a conversation with Dumbledore that held something of true value. Well, besides the Dark Lord, but that was the whole point of Severus teaching at Hogwarts, wasn’t it? Most of their meetings had been spent discussing the history of the school, or listening to Dumbledore reminisce about travels, the Founders, old Headmasters and students. The Occlumency had illuminated, though, that Dumbledore probably knew something Severus did not about Lily’s letter, and her daughter, and though Dumbledore may try, he could not hide something forever once Severus became suspicious. He _was_ a Slytherin, after all.

And the old man _did_ know something, because Severus had seen it in the staff room. Whatever it was, it couldn’t be good, but he would not play the part of the fool, either. Severus was very quickly growing tired of being taken off guard, something Lily-thing had executed well… three times, now? Four? Whatever the figure was, it was an alarming number. It need to be stopped, before Lily-thing stumbled upon something she didn’t understand, and Severus would be forced to _explain_ to her why she was a stupid, arrogant, thickheaded Gryffindor, just like her father.

Although the persistence _did_ scream Lily. She’d never been one to back down, not even when she’d known she was wildly overstepping her boundaries. It had fed Severus’ own needs long after Lily had closed the door on their friendship.

Dumbledore must have been expecting Severus to splinter the door off its hinges, because he’d put cushioning charms on the surrounding area of his office when Severus finally entered. He’d been forced to grit out _“gnomey nougat”_ to the statue, which had managed to burrow through his Occlumency and cause small ripples of annoyance to sway through his mind.

Dumbledore looked up as Severus stood in the doorway, and smiled, a freshly inked quill in his hands. He’d been writing to Fudge — he only used the quill with the Gryffindor feathers, gold and ruby red, when he wrote to the Minister. Dumbledore did not greet Severus with anything but that smile, a knowing glint is his eyes that was brighter than the sun.

“Have you had lunch yet, my boy?” Dumbledore twinkled at him, setting the quill down. “I seem to have written straight through it, I’m afraid. I’ve lost myself in my writing. Better to be lost in words than in mind, though.” he smiled, and it felt like he’d swung a sword at Severus’ head.

Severus did not react. He stepped into the room wordlessly, and clicked the door shut behind him. It was the loudest sound in the room, louder than all the baubles whirring and magic humming. Dumbledore simply set down his quill and pointed his wand at the coffee table in front of his desk. The tea set began to busy itself as platters of finger food popped into existence, along with two armchairs. One was midnight-blue, the other lemon-yellow.

“I’ve been meaning to ask how you’re meeting with Quirinus went.” Dumbledore sat down as the teaset busied itself. He seated himself in the yellow chair, which Severus was almost grateful for. If he’d taken the blue one, Severus would have set them both on fire.

He still did not speak. Severus saw clearly through the Occlumency, but not clearly enough. There was a certain amount of clarity his emotions held, even if he knew they were driven by the mania of paranoia. If Dumbledore noticed that Severus’ silence was calculated, he did not make it known. Instead, he gave a grateful nod at the teapot as it poured itself into his cup — as if it were a sentient being — and leaned back in his chair.

Severus glared at his tea cup as it floated towards him, bobbing in front of his face as it waited for him to take it. Dumbledore sipped his own, making a content sound as he nodded in approval. It was peppermint, with an ungodly amount of sugar — Dumbledore’s favorite. Severus could smell if wafting off the cup levitating in front of him as it began to float away. Dumbledore sat patiently as he waited for Severus’ report, sipping his tea happily and pretending as if there wasn’t any other possible reason for Severus being here in the middle of the school day.

“If Quirrell is after the Stone,” said Severus. “he’s doing a very poor job of securing it.” 

Dumbledore chuckled. “Well, I would hope that whoever desires the Stone would find it a tad difficult. Even if they’re operating under someone else’s wishes.”

“He was barely able to squeak out a coherent sentence by the time I was done with him. If the Dark Lord is behind the events on Halloween, he’s become pathetically desperate.”

“Hm,” Dumbledore frowned. “I do hope you weren’t _too_ forceful, Severus.”

That had been right after Lily-things’ detention. Severus didn’t remember much after that, but he did remember Quirrell nearly fainting. It had been immensely satisfying, but not nearly enough to make him feel better. Severus vaguely remembered Quirrell catching sight of the blood of his hand and balking. There had been this itch he couldn’t scratch, just like there was now. Something was _just_ within his reach, something important that he knew or _should_ know, but it kept evading him like wind — whispered to him as it whipped past, unable to hear what it was saying.

“Severus,” Dumbledore set down his teacup and reached a withered hand towards him. “are you alright, my boy?”

Severus was deciding whether or not to destroy the tea set when he finally decided that getting angry was exactly what Dumbledore thought he’d do. And so, he decided to play the Headmaster’s game for a minute or two.

“What does she know?” Severus asked, relishing the look of surprise that flashed across the old man’s face.

Dumbledore blinked at him. “Who?”

“You _know_ who.” Severus forced himself to dig his nails into his palm. “I heard you and Flitwick talking about that damn letter.”

Dumbledore looked genuinely surprised again, for a moment, but it was quickly replaced with thoughtfulness. “Ariel shared it with you?”

“No,” _thank Merlin and Morgana._ “The brat mentioned it, though. She wanted to know how to undo Lily’s Charm. I told her I couldn’t help her.”

“Ah, yes, well,” Dumbledore seemed almost… disappointed. Sentimental old fool. “Filius was quite firm in his belief that it couldn’t be undone without the correct enchantment. Minerva’s just Floo’d me, actually.” Dumbledore continued, sipping his tea as he stared up at the portraits. Severus followed his gaze to a man, not as old as Dumbledore, but on in years, wearing a monocle and a cane. His beard was threaded in four separate braids. “Moonseeds are relatively harmless by themselves, but Poppy says Draco claimed temporary blindness. Are you aware of such effects?”

“Malfoy could be a theatre actor with the amount of dramatics he exudes.” Severus muttered. “I’ll undoubtedly be hearing from his mother in the next week.”

“Would Narcissa really go to such lengths?” asked Dumbledore, taking a sip of his tea.

“No, but she’s nosey.” Pureblood women were a different breed of witch. Narcissa would take an inconvenient type of interest in the girl, if Draco carried on enough. “She’ll want to know all about the girl if her son complains about her as much as he does with the rest of the Slytherins.”

“I see,” Dumbledore’s brow deepened, but his eyes held a glint of amusement. “well, I must say that I was surprised to hear it was Miss Evans causing trouble, especially in _your_ classroom. Minerva mentioned that Mr Weasley made a foolish effort in following her, but it does comfort me to know that she’s found such steadfast friends.”

“What does the girl know?” Severus repeated, trying not to feel nauseated by the sentiments of _love_ and _friendship_ being spewed at him. “I know you know something. You knew she had the letter, didn’t you?”

“I had an idea.” Dumbledore said loftily. “There were other items in Lily’s belongings that made reference to it, and Ariel asked to take some pictures before I sorted through it myself. No harm done, really, but it’s _quite_ curious…”

“No, it’s not.” said Severus flatly. “The brat is meddling with the things she doesn’t understand.”

“Such as?”

Severus stared right at him. The only way he was going to get any answers was by being direct, and Dumbledore did not do well with direct questions. He could dance around them with metaphors and word paintings, but he knew that Severus was smarter than that, and a Slytherin. Severus couldn’t be easily deterred, and while he was used to using more tact, Dumbledore’s side-stepping of conversations was annoyingly admirable.

“I almost took it from her before.” Severus told him, watching intently as Dumbledore leaned back in his chair. “The letter. That’s why she threw potion ingredients at Malfoy. She’s trying to get my attention.”

Dumbledore’s face did not change. “And why would Ariel do that?”

“I don’t know.” Severus said coolly. “You tell me.”

There was a long, deafening silence. Severus could feel his ears ringing as the blood pumped through his veins, faster and faster until his molars itched. His Occlumency was starting to slip.

“I don’t know any more than you do about Lily’s letter.” said Dumbledore. “Seeing as I haven’t had the pleasure of reading it.”

There was something missing in that sentence. The cadence of Dumbledore’s voice was off, something missing from it that was just within Severus’ reach, but he couldn’t figure out what the sodding fuck it _was._

_She mentioned you, I thought you’d want to know_

“You have… an _idea,_ though.” Severus said slowly.

“I have many ideas,” Dumbledore said pleasantly. “each one as unlikely as the next.”

Severus’ palm collided with the floating tea cup, which had been circling him like a moon in orbit. Dumbledore stared calmly back, and that was what did it. There was always a lack of a reaction, no conviction or clarity. Somehow, Severus was always left on the dark side of a one-way glass, with Dumbledore looking in and seeing everything Severus couldn’t. Between Dumbledore’s all-knowing gaze and Lily-thing’s wild eyes, Severus was going to go completely mad. The thing with not-Lily eyes and Lily hair and freckles, the horrendous haircut Petunia had given her and then ache in her face that echoed in Severus’ own heart — Dumbledore’s knowing looks, the understanding and compassion prevalent in the lines of his face. It was too much.

Severus let his Occlumency slide off like a sheet. The force of his most precious secret now a mere a tool in Lily-thing’s toolbox hit him like a Bludger.

“She _knows.”_ Severus’ chest heaved as he stood over Dumbledore, tea pooling around his boots. “She knows I knew her mother, because _apparently,_ Lily wrote something in that blasted letter. There is no comprehensible _reason_ that Lily would need to share that with her, but the brat fucking _knows something._ She’s put two and two together somehow, but there is no logical explanation as to why Lily would have to tell her daughter _anything_ about me.”

“Well, clearly there must be.” Dumbledore said calmly. “Or else Lily wouldn’t have written it down.”

Severus slammed his fist down on the table, the scones bouncing to the floor. Dumbledore stared back at him, something unfathomable in his blue eyes. The early November breeze swept past Severus, rustling Dumbledore’s beard as it filled the room. The portraits, who had been in various states of awareness, had gone silent, watching the conversation with rapt attention.

“Severus,” Dumbledore said quietly, setting down his tea cup. “when you vowed to keep Ariel safe from Voldemort —”

Severus’ skin prickled, and it wasn’t from the cold. “Don’t say the name!”

Something like pity passed over Dumbledore’s face, and Severus hated it. “Tom, then. When you made that promise, to protect Ariel from Tom after what happened in Godric’s Hollow, I took you into the heart of this school. You’re responsible for hundreds, if not thousands of students over the past decade. I’ve often encouraged you to find something worth nurturing in them, and time and time again you’ve refuted me. Would it be such an inconceivable thought to allow Ariel to see what I do? After what you have sacrificed to keep her safe?”

“I don’t want anything to do with her!” Severus snapped, the room suddenly feeling much smaller. “I will protect her with my life for Lily’s sake, but nothing more. _Why_ would she write to the girl about me? What do you know — I have a right to know, Albus!”

He tried to ignore how those words twisted his heart, but the idea of Lily-thing — of _any_ child — _liking_ him was almost laughable, if it weren’t completely mental. The Slytherins respected him as their Head of House, certainly, but Severus didn’t think any of them necessarily _liked_ him as a professor. The Gryffindors probably had a burned effigy of him in their Common Room. The Ravenclaws were far more interested in his grading than anything else, and the Hufflepuffs landed somewhere between the Ravenclaws and Gryffindors. Children did not _like_ him, even if he did have a hand in rescuing them from narcissistic, jealousy-ridden Muggle aunts.

“It may be too late for that, my boy.” Dumbledore said, and Severus wanted to obliterate that _tone_ , along with the rest of the furniture, and the entire office. “Can you think of no other reason Ariel might be trying to form some sort of connection with you? Besides Lily’s reference to you, whatever it may be.”

The vague suggestions were only making Severus angrier. “What the hell are you talking about? I’ve barely acknowledged the brat.”

“Words are too complicated.” Dumbledore waved at him, almost dismissively. “Actions, however, take on a far greater meaning.”

Severus was going to strangle him and end up in Azkaban, he was sure of it. _“What_ are you —”

“You took her from Petunia’s.” Dumbledore said simply. “An act like that does not go unnoticed, especially by a child.”

_one two buckle my shoe_

_roses one two three_

Severus swallowed back the burn in his throat. “Any idiot with even an _inkling_ of a moral compass —”

“No, not just anyone.” Dumbledore shook his head. “You were quite upset when you saw what Petunia had subjected Ariel to. You were quite possibly the first person to express any sort of kindness towards her.”

“What does she know?” Severus demanded, ignoring him. He’d take care of _that,_ but he would not concede until he knew what the girl _really_ wanted. Taking Lily’s daughter from those worthless fucking Muggles was the least Severus could have done. Lily would have probably leveled the entire neighborhood herself, maybe even Potter, too, but he’d never possessed the same amount of fire Lily had. Potter had only ever done things in the Name of Goodness and Truth, no matter how pervasive that ideology could be.

“Severus —” Dumbledore began, a monologue on his lips.

“Tell me, Albus, or so help me —”

“Ariel will be faced with much, in the coming years.” Dumbledore said, in a voice that was smooth, like glass, but stronger than iron. “If there is one thing Tom cannot fathom, it is the ability to love, Severus, to be kind and to build on that foundation with friendship. You understand that better than anyone, and Ariel will need it more than you know.”

 _“Love_ was not enough to save Lily!” Severus snarled before he could stop himself.

His words rang in the air for a moment as Dumbledore stared at him with those fathomless blue eyes. Severus felt as though the floor had pulled out from underneath him. He wished that it had.

“Love was enough to save Ariel.” Dumbledore said, and this time, he rose, folding his hands together in front of him. “And that ability will continue to protect her. It’s Tom’s only weakness. It is her only hope.”

* * *

Ariel sat within the confines of her four-poster later than evening, feeling a hollow sense of triumph settle in the pit of her stomach.

Professor McGonagall had given them a scolding that had left Ariel feeling ashamed and embarrassed. Ron not so much, he’d reassured her that whatever her reasons were, that finally doing something (even if it wasn’t really anything) to the Slytherins, especially Malfoy, had been well received by the Gryffindors. Fred and George had given her a hand drawn certificate that shot out confetti whenever Ariel opened it, which had made her feel good for six whole seconds before they’d inquired about how angry their Head of House had been. No one _ever_ misbehaved purposefully in Snape’s class.

 _I expected better of you, Miss Evans,_ Professor McGonagall had said, more disappointment in her voice than anger, and it had made Ariel feel the smallest yet. She’d never had someone disappointed in her before, because that meant they must have placed some amount of worth in her existence. The Dursleys would have never lowered themselves to that. Professor McGonagall was her Head of House, though, and she’d docked them thirty points. Ron said it a good thing it had been Professor McGonagall and not Snape — he would have smashed the Gryffindor’s hourglass, if he could’ve.

She’d then separated Ariel and Ron for their detentions (Ron’s was for leaving class without permission). Ariel was to report to Snape again, and Ron was cleaning bedpans in the infirmary. She tried very hard to feel victorious, but she couldn’t. She couldn’t stop picturing that look on Snape’s face before he’d stormed back into his classroom. It _had_ been worth it, in the end, because Ariel was going to see Snape, but… somehow, she felt like she was about to walk into a trap. Was that how Snape had felt last night?

Hermione had said very little to Ariel between dinner and returning to Gryffindor Tower. Snape hadn’t been at dinner, either, but Ariel had caught Professor Dumbledore staring at her more than once. Ariel wondered if Snape or Professor McGonagall had told him what she’d done, and felt another terrible wave of shame crash over her. Malfoy had spent all of dinner with a pack of ice on his eye, moaning, while the rest of the Slytherins gave Ariel terrible glares. Fred and George had promised to put laxatives in their pumpkin juice tomorrow morning.

Lavender and Pararti turned their noses up at Ariel as they made eye contact coming out of the bathroom. Ariel sighed, shaking her head as they shut themselves away in the curtains behind their bed, whispering loud enough for Ariel to hear them, but not to understand what they were saying. Lavender was still mad about the fairy lights and pictures, and after Ariel’s stunt in Potion’s, they’d thought she’d gone completely off the deep end in an attempt to offend them somehow. She made a plan to apologize to Lavender - _again —_ tomorrow morning. Tonight, Ariel had more important things to worry about.

Hermione was scratching away at one of their assignments. Ariel didn’t know which one, because Hermione usually did essays that were due in two weeks the night they were assigned, and their work had begun to pile up as Hogwarts schedules became their new normal. Ariel craned her had to try and get a peek, wanting to start up a conversation, and saw that her Defense textbook was open. _That_ essay hadn’t even been assigned yet — Quirrell had mentioned _possibly_ giving it to them sometime before Christmas.

The scratching stopped. Ariel stuffed her nose into her mum’s letter, like she was analyzing the fold creases. She could feel Hermione’s eyes on her, wanting to ask her what was up, but she was secretly terrified that Hermione was angry, like Lavender and Parvarti were.

“When’s your detention?” Hermione asked, not turning around, but her quill didn’t move.

Ariel’s stomach gave a funny little jump. “In a few minutes, I think. I’m walking down with Ron.”

Hermione made a sound Ariel couldn’t categorize. The sound of her quill writing began again, but it was slower this time, and more spaced out, like she wasn’t dictating as much. Ariel went back to staring at the letter, wondering what good it was with nothing written on it anymore. Her conversation with Professor Flitwick had made her feel hopeless, and even though she really, _really_ wanted him to know, Ariel didn’t know if she had the guts to tell Snape outright. He was suspicious now, though — _dangerously_ suspicious. At least Ariel had done a good job of making the meanest professor in the entire school furious with her.

“Why’d you do it?” Hermione asked suddenly, shutting her Defense textbook with a _thump._ “You know Professor Snape never disciplines the Slytherins.”

Ariel’s heart gave a little jump, folding the letter over once. “Malfoy deserved it! He’s always getting away with being horrid to us.”

“Yes,” Hermione agreed, but her eyebrows knitted closer together. “But surely you must’ve known Professor Snape would be furious.”

She nodded slowly, lowering her eyes to her quilt. “I had a hunch.”

Hermione’s frown deepened. She pushed her chair away from the desk and climbed onto Ariel’s bed, giving Lavender’s a horrid glare before pulling Ariel’s curtains shut. A scandalized gasp came from across the room. 

“I think you should tell him.” Hermione said quietly. “Tonight. That’s what you were going to do anyway, yeah?”

 _Was it that obvious?_ Ariel swallowed roughly. “I know we said I shouldn’t —”

“It’s okay,” Hermione nodded solemnly. “Something happened last night, during your detention, didn’t it? Something else you didn’t say.”

Ariel nodded. “I might’ve let on more than I should’ve.”

“How much more?”

She squirmed. “I can’t take it, Hermione. Snape knows _something._ He might not remember seeing Mum again, but he didn’t forget everything. Maybe… maybe it’s enough.”

“Maybe,” Hermione said thoughtfully, but her eyes lowered themselves to the bedspread. “Maybe — if he really loved her.”

Something jolted down Ariel’s spine. She felt like she’d been electrocuted.

“What?” Hermione asked, her eyes widening. “I didn’t mean to overstep—”

“No, that’s not it.” Ariel shook her head, trying to shake off the dizziness. “I just… I don’t know, I never thought of it like that.”

Maybe Snape did love her mum. Maybe he didn’t. Ariel wished now more than ever that the letter was as it once was, so she could reread her mother’s wording and try to connect the word _love_ to _Snape._ Mum had said it loads of times in the letter, but only to Ariel and James, never Snape. Hadn’t she, though? Loved him? Was that why she’d written it, because she loved Snape and wanted Ariel to know?

Had Snape loved Mum _back?_

“Well, think about it.” Hermione said, scooting closer to her. “I mean, your mum said they were friends, weren’t they? And then she said something about Professor Snape telling her things she wished she’d known, and that even if he didn’t remember that night, he’d never hurt you or her. I don’t know much about that kind of stuff, but feeling safe like that… I don’t know, it sounds like love in a way, doesn’t it?”

Ariel didn’t know a lot about love either, but it made sense… sort of. Maybe that was why Snape didn’t want to talk about Mum. Ariel couldn’t imagine talking about Hermione or Ron if one of them was murdered by an evil wizard, and she’d only known them a few months. And then she felt terrible, because if Snape loved her mum and her mum had died, maybe he knew what she felt, lying under her parents’ pictures and wishing she could hear their voices, just once.

Another voice in the back of her head said, “ _what if Snape doesn’t want you?”_

* * *

Not too long after that, Ariel set off for her detention with Ron, who didn’t seem too upset at spending a night cleaning in the infirmary when he really hadn’t done anything wrong. He chatted away merrily, reliving the moment the moonseeds had collided with Malfoy’s face, and how Pansy’s had twisted like a pugs’ snout. Ariel smiled and nodded along, but all she could think of was Snape’s gaunt face in the torchlight and the wounded, caged expression in his eyes writhing beneath all that anger. She wondered if that was how Snape would greet her tonight.

“I’d scrub a hundred bedpans to see that again.” Ron was saying as they stepped in front of the Great Hall. “Although maybe not the scolding from McGonagall. I did feel a bit guilty then, but after Malfoy ratted you out about the duel and Fluffy… Merlin, that really was brilliant.”

“Yeah,” Ariel agreed glumly. “I can see why.”

Ariel stopped, letting her eyes fall to the floor. She didn’t know what was worse, Snape or the bedpans, but she’d _wanted_ to get a detention with Snape. Ron hadn’t wanted to scrub bedpans.

Ron stopped when he noticed Ariel had stopped walking. “What’s wrong? You okay, mate?”

She marched forward and hugged him. For a moment, Ariel didn’t realize she was doing it until Ron let out something that sounded like a squeak.

“We’re doing this now?” Ron gave an uncomfortable laugh.

“No,” Ariel let him go. “you’re just a good mate, is all.”

“Right.” Ron ran his hand through his hair, his face a bright red. “Well, then I’ll see you later. Good luck with Snape.”

And then he pivoted and lopped off. Ariel stared after him, contemplating calling out, but decided against it. If she hadn’t known better, Ariel might’ve thought the floor was lava, by the way Ron was walking. His demeanor had done a complete one-eighty.

Boys were weird, Ariel decided as she made her way towards the dungeons, but she couldn’t decide if it was just her, or the people around her. Maybe it was just _all_ boys — men. Uncle Vernon had been very strange, though not as strange as Snape. Ariel had thought Ron was immune to it, but if giving a hug caused him to run away, well… maybe Ariel was just missing something. She’d have to ask Lavender about it when she apologized. Lavender knew a _lot_ about boys. Although, maybe Ariel was better off not knowing.

As Ariel started her descent into the dungeons, she stopped suddenly. Something felt… off. She couldn’t put her finger on whatever it was, but as she squinted into the darkness at the bottom of the steps, she could’ve sworn that it was… blacker. Ariel jumped as she heard something scurry behind her, like someone was running away. Had Ron followed her?

_Scratch scratch scratchscratchscratch_

“Ron?” she called. “Madam Pomfrey will have a fit if you show up late.”

Something behind Ariel moved.

She whirled around, her breath catching in her throat, like a fly in a spider’s web. Ariel scanned the darkness in front of her, straining her eyes to see something — _anything —_ but there was nothing Ariel could make out within her sightline. The scratching sound continued. It didn’t sound like someone trailing behind her, but more like a dog beginning to be let in front outside. Aunt Marge’s dogs used to do that, when they hadn’t been trying to gnaw off Ariel’s hair.

_Scratchscratchscratch scratchscratchscratch_

_“Lumos,”_ Ariel whispered.

No, it didn’t sound like dogs either. It was more… deliberate. There was patience in between each sound, like the scratching was simply something to pass the time, a way to fill the seconds that ticked by. The light wasn’t helping much, Ariel still couldn’t see anything past a few meters down the steps.

“If that’s you, Malfoy,” Ariel raised her wand higher, trying to make the shadows shorter. “I’ll make you sorry.”

The scratching stopped. The castle was eerily quiet, but the darkness was loud. It made her ragged breathing deafening as it sat there, and Ariel would’ve bet her wand arm it was watching her — but that was impossible, because darkness wasn’t something you could —

 _“Ariel Evans,”_ a cold, high voice hissed, slashing through the dark like a comet.

The night she’d jumped out of the window at the Dursleys, Ariel had been scared. She would never admit it, of course, but it was the first time Ariel had ever felt like that, the surge of adrenaline so strong that it made her knees weak and arms heavy. _This_ type of fear was brand new though, seizing her chest like a fist. Ariel’s scar burst into white hot pain. It was only for a fraction of a second, but it was enough to cause her to cry out in surprise. She skittered back, away from the foreboding darkness of the dungeons, and darted back, putting out her _Lumos_ as she ran.

Ariel couldn’t tell where she was running, only that the scratching sound was getting closer, the darkness thicker, and someone was saying her name over and over again. There was a feeling like scissors in her teeth, a nagging vibration that told her to keep running and to not look back. The cold, high voice was getting louder, the darkness growing in front of her as her boots slapped against the stone, until —

“Miss _Evans!”_ a voice was snarling, a sharp hand on her shoulder. Ariel screamed and whirled around to find Snape, who she’d never been so happy to see, baring his teeth down at her and very out of breath. “Just _where_ do you think you’re —”

“There’s someone there!” Ariel managed to strangle out. Her fear had wrapped itself around her throat, making anything other than running nearly impossible.

Snape gave her a disbelieving look for a split second, so quick, that if Ariel had blinked, she would’ve missed it. _“Who?”_

“I don’t know.” Ariel inched closer to him. “He wouldn’t stop saying my name.”

His eyes narrowed dangerously, and for once, they weren’t aimed at Ariel because of something she’d said. Snape’s gaze hardened as he squinted into the inky blackness beyond Ariel. She hated that it was there, just beyond her turned back, this open expanse of air that was threatening to swallow her whole. Snape must’ve noticed how on edge she was, because he grabbed her by the arm and pulled her beneath his cloak. Ariel’s nose smashed into his leg before letting her fingers curl around the wool of his robes. They were very soft.

Snape raised his wand as the darkness receded. Ariel wondered if he could see it too. He wasn’t acting like it. His wand lit up wordlessly, and the darkness seemed to suck itself up into itself, or maybe it was just a trick of the light. His face was smooth and calculating, but fearsome. Ariel couldn’t hear the darkness or the voice anymore, only her heart slamming against her ribcage and both their uneven breathing.

“He was there,” Ariel whispered. “I swear.”

“Did you recognize the voice?”

“No but…”

“But what?” Snape snapped.

“My scar hurt.”

Ariel hadn’t meant to say it, because it sounded stupid, but Snape’s eyes went from the not-so-dark-ness to her face instantly. “Explain.”

“It got really dark and quiet, and then I heard this voice.” Ariel shivered underneath his cloak. “My scar felt like it was burning when talked.”

Snape didn’t seem to want to leave, but the blackness was receding, or at least, it looked that way to Ariel. Maybe she’d really gone loony and was hallucinating it, but the hallway was starting to look normal again. Snape stared into it, like laser beams were about to come shooting out of his eyes (this wouldn’t have surprised Ariel), but after a moment or two, he turned.

“Come,” Snape said, looking over his shoulder one last time. “We’ll discuss this in my office.”

Ariel didn’t argue. She’d have taken those creepy fetuses in jars over the cold, high voice and the infinite darkness any day.

Snape’s arm stayed firmly around her shoulders.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: As a teacher, it boggles my mind that Dumbledore and Snape are in charge of overseeing children. Especially this one.
> 
> I apologize for the delay. As some of you know, I’m a teacher and there’s been a lot of PD and planning for school this fall. I also took a Masters class, because Grad school is a great idea, right? Anyway, I hope to update more regularly now.
> 
> Reviews are also very much appreciated. xx


	8. weight of living

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Previously: Tension is mounting as Severus closes in on a mystery that the worlds most infuriating eleven-year-old and Headmaster seem to know more about than they're letting on. After being chased through the corridors by a disturbing cold, high voice, Severus is intent on finding out what Ariel knows, but it may be more than he's anticipating. . .

_“There is no greater agony than bearing an untold story inside.”_

— Anonymous

* * *

Severus was quite certain that Lily-thing was going to cry.

He’d made Lily cry — twice, actually. The first time had been an accident, when his undeveloped child-magic had caused a tree branch to (unfortunately) miss Petunia. The other incident had been right before fourth year, when Severus had told Lily that he hated going home, hated his parents, and couldn’t wait until he could leave Cokeworth forever.

Lily’s daughter did not have the same crying face her mother had, thank Merlin. Lily’s eyes would fill to the brim with tears, like a bathtub filling with water, before sobbing uncontrollably for minutes on end. It had made Severus feel helpless, stupid, and miserable, and so he had tried very hard to never make Lily cry, ever, and for the most part, he had succeeded. They had argued constantly, though, most of their days together ending with Lily storming off, but she’d always come back, where Severus was always waiting for her.

Lily-thing looked like she was trying to swallow an anvil. It did not look comfortable at all — if Severus hadn’t known any better, he might have thought Lily-thing was choking on some obstructed object in her windpipe. He considered giving the girl a Calming Draught, but decided against it in the end. She’d probably refuse it anyway, being the little Gryffindor monster she was. She’d probably take it as a direct insult, a sign that Severus thought she was somehow weak.

Well, at least she wasn’t carrying on like Draco had, but the silence was beginning to unnerve him. Why wasn’t the brat _doing_ anything?

Severus managed to peel Lily-thing off his side without too much trouble once they were safely inside his office. He made sure to cast a particularly strong Silencing Charm (not that anyone could hear past the dungeon walls anyway), and reinforced his Wards before turning his attention back to the girl. Lily-thing glanced around his office nervously, her wand still clutched tightly in her hand. Severus quickly ran a Diagnostic on the girl, a rainbow of color washing over her in droplets and cracks of light. Her eyes widened as she watched, a question clearly on her lips, but it never came.

“That’s pretty,” Lily-thing whispered instead, holding out her hand as if the sparks were snowflakes.

Severus ignored her and the uncomfortable feeling in his chest. The Diagnostic didn’t reveal anything, which he’d expected, but it was all the more troubling. The expression on Lily-thing’s face when she’d collided into him (again) had been eerily similar to the one she’d worn on Halloween, but also entirely different. Tonight, Lily-thing had looked like someone running for their life — the relief on her face when she’d realized it was Severus had found her was undeniable.

_there’s someone there he wouldn’t stop saying my name_

_magic hummed in the air like blood in veins but there was nothing nothing nothing_

So much had changed in the past three days, between Quirrell and Lily-thing and Dumbledore’s innate ability to make Severus’ blood pressure skyrocket. Time was tricky that way. There were whole months, even years, where nothing had changed after the Dark Lord had fallen. Severus hadn’t gone anywhere new or thought a single new thought as he forced himself to walk through the monotony of daily life. Then, Lily-thing had run away from Petunia’s, and in that one day, that hour, that mere half second when Severus had opened the cupboard door, it was like he had stepped into a new life. The past three days felt as though they would stretch on forever in an endless cycle of Lily-thing catching Severus completely off guard again and again.

Something was building, twisting itself into the fabric of time like vines. Something Severus couldn’t see, something Dumbledore couldn’t even pinpoint, and that scared him most of all.

“Sit.” Severus ordered, and for once, the brat did as she was told and sat down in front of his desk.

The girl’s face begged him for answers. Her fingers picked at the skin just above her eyes, a nervous tick inherited from her mother when she was under extreme stress. Lily had picked off half of her left eyebrow right before their fifth year NEWTS. Potter and Black had teased her relentlessly for it, and she’d Hexed their balls blue.

“Now,” Severus tried his best to use only his teacher voice, and not his Death Eater voice, which he was starting to realize carried over more often than not. “tell me everything. Do not leave anything out, because I will know, and this time, you’ll go straight to the Headmaster.”

The threat bounced off of the girl like oil on water. Lily-thing fiddled with her hands before peeking up at him warily. “You won’t get mad?”

Severus wanted to smash his face against the desk. “Whether I get _mad_ or not should not influence your explanation of tonight’s events.”

“But you get mad a lot… like on Halloween, and at Aunt Petunia’s. I didn’t do anything then, and you were _really_ mad.” the girl looked lost and disheveled, staring down at her hands like she was trying to make sense of how her fingers worked.

Jesus fucking Christ, children, even if they were Lily’s, were infuriating. “That was different. If you feel _threatened,_ you need to tell me, a _capable adult,_ so that I can take the necessary precautions and advise the appropriate parties.”

“Like Professor Dumbledore?”

Severus sighed heavily. “Yes, like Professor Dumbledore. Now, tell me _who_ or _what_ you heard.”

The girl did, which was nothing short of a miracle. She’d seemed so small and timid, but the more she spoke, Lily-thing grew both in size and confidence, like a sponge when submerged in water. By the time Lily-thing had finished, she looked more like her normal self, taller and poised. A pinprick of light had sparked again in her dark eyes. Even the freckles that had seemed to fade around her nose gained their color back. Lily’s had all but disappeared by the time she’d graduated. Severus wondered if her daughter’s would, too.

Despite the fact that Lily-thing was not emotionally traumatized, Severus was still deeply disturbed by her description of tonight’s events. He hadn’t seen anything in the corridor himself, but he’d certainly _felt_ it — a cold that seeped into his bones and tied a knot in his throat. It was a kind of dark magic that was hard to conceal, hard to find unless you went looking for it… or it went looking for you. And it _had_ found her, because Lily-thing’s scar shouldn’t have burned unless it meant imminent danger.

Severus had to remind himself that there was no possible way the Dark Lord could be inside of Hogwarts — not with Dumbledore here, anyway, but the fact that _something_ was here, something powerful enough to stir that kind of protective magic to lash out…

Whoever, or whatever, was in the school had taken interest in the brat. The thought curled around his heart like an icicle. At least Lily-thing didn’t realize that —

“Could it have been whoever’s after the Stone?” Lily-thing asked in a tight voice.

Shit.

Severus stared down at Lily-thing, expressionless, while he sifted through his Things That Should Not Be Told To Children folder. Agreeing with the brat and letting her walk around with the knowledge that a homicidal maniac had deployed someone to steal a Stone that granted one immortality did not seem like something he should do, but then again, he regularly bullied children. Even though the girl was correct, she didn’t need to know it. The last thing Severus needed was to give a Gryffindor incentive to go off and begin a quest in the name of hero-doing-duties. Especially _this_ Gryffindor. Lily-thing wouldn’t be frightened, she’d see it as a challenge.

The fact that whoever was after the Stone was now stalking Lily-thing was going to keep Severus’ awake at night. The girl didn’t need to suffer too.

“Tell me more about your scar.” Severus said dismissively, ignoring her question. “What did it feel like?”

Lily-thing looked like she was about to argue, but clamped her mouth shut and sighed instead. “It was really quick, only a second or two. It felt like someone poked me with a hot needle.”

Severus’ jaw clenched. “Has that ever happened before?”

“Yeah, once, during the —” Lily-thing’s eyes widened, and then her face quickly smoothed over, like she was clumsily trying to draw a veil shut. Severus was very nearly impressed, but the girl had the subtlety of a freight train.

“During what?” Severus snapped impatiently. “Don’t you dare lie, Miss Evans. This is far too important.”

The girl grimaced, and then pretended like the floor was the most interesting thing she’d ever seen. Gods, he hated children.

“It was when you looked at me,” Lily-thing said in a tiny voice. “Before the Sorting Ceremony.”

Severus felt something hot pierce straight through him, like a bullet in the dark.

He struggled to recall the Feast, through the tight bonds Occlumency had bound the memory under. Severus had locked it away in his tight little box, where Lily was, but as he sifted through, he saw the Sorting ceremony, and the curious, half-wave Lily-thing had given him. As soon as Severus had made eye contact with her and tried to turn her into a scorch mark, Lily-thing’s face had twisted with panic, her hand reaching up to touch her —

Severus had thought Lily-thing was trying to look away, or block his glare with her hands. Now, it seemed idiotic, but it still didn’t make any _sense_. Severus was not a direct threat to the girl. For fuck’s sake, he was at the damn school to protect her, like he had tonight. Unless the scar had sensed something else, and the split second of eye contact they’d had was just a coincidence. Quirrell had been next to him, hadn’t he? Severus couldn’t remember, he’d been too busy watching Lily-thing, and wondering what Molly Weasley must’ve thought when the girl had shown up in boy clothes and that escaped-mental-patient haircut.

He was still deep in thought when Lily-thing broke through the blissful silence.

“I don’t think it was you.” the girl stared up at him earnestly, her face thick with worry.

It took Severus half a beat to figure out what she was talking about. “Seeing as you nearly stampeded over me coming from the opposite direction, I would have suspected that fact would have been quite obvious.”

“I know,” Lily-thing said with a jerky nod. “I just didn’t want you to think the two were connected. I never thought about my scar hurting at the Sorting before now… it’s never bothered me. Sometimes I have to remind myself I didn’t get it in a car accident, like Aunt Petunia said.”

Severus wished he’d made Dumbledore tell him what he’d done to those useless scraps of flesh when they’d returned home. “It’s quite possible that whatever followed you tonight was also present at the Sorting.”

Her eyes widened. “So it’s definitely someone in the school?”

“Unless you’re proposing that someone astroprojected themselves into a corridor in Hogwarts to frighten you, I don’t see any other possibilities.”

The brat blinked at him before her face knitted together in deep thought. “How’d you know?”

Severus furrowed his eyebrows. “Know what?”

“Where to find me.” Lily-thing frowned. “I was nowhere near the dungeons.”

“There weren’t a great many places for you _to_ go _,_ Miss Evans. Not at this hour, anyway.”

That was a lie — he’d been in Dumbledore’s office the entire time, and had been making his way down, intent on obliterating whatever nonsense had taken root inside of Lily-thing’s head when he’d heard running, and known it had to be the girl.

“You… you didn’t hear the voice?” Lily-thing looked confused. “Not at all?”

This troubled Severus greatly. “No, I did not.”

Lily-thing looked almost disappointed, before she leaned forward, her demeanor suddenly loud and determined, like she was trying to make herself bigger.

“I didn’t imagine it!” the girl said defensively.

“I never said you did.” said Severus coldly.

“Oh,” she deflated. “So… you believe me, then?”

“Why do you think I performed a Diagnostic spell on you?” Severus said, stifling the urge to roll his eyes. “I wouldn’t have wasted my time on that if I suspected you of being dishonest.”

“Oh,” the girl’s corners twitched upward. “well, thank you.”

Severus didn’t know what to say to that, so he didn’t say anything.

He considered letting the girl go, but maybe it was better off that she stay put for now. That way, Severus could keep an eye on her. Even if Severus escorted her up to Gryffindor Tower, he wasn’t comfortable with letting the brat out of his sight just yet — whoever had chased her could still be lurking around outside, though it was unlikely since the dungeons were near impossible to navigate unless you were a Slytherin. Lily-thing still had a pension for getting into trouble without trying very hard, just like her father.

The thought that Dumbledore should know about this crept forward, but Severus had just left his office, and he certainly wasn’t going to take the girl with him. He could only imagine the nauseating dialogue that would emerge from _that_ interaction.

He was furious with Dumbledore anyway, so the old coot was just going to have to wait until morning. The thought of knowing something Dumbledore didn’t was immensely satisfying.

“I’ve made a mess of things, haven’t I?” Lily-thing said, just as Severus went to stand. He had decided that he was going to make her write a hundred lines or so, and then have her assist him with restocking the storeroom. It was nothing compared to what he’d originally had in store for her, but this way, he could keep an eye on the brat while manipulating her into telling him what was in that fucking letter.

He sat back down, and stared at the girl. Her legs swung absentmindedly high above the floor, but her eyes were dark and intense, like she was trying to read his mind.

“You’ve certainly put in an annoying amount of effort.” Severus said coolly.

“You wouldn’t talk to me!” she shot back. “What _else_ was I supposed to do?”

“Have you considered, out of all of the abysmally foolish things you’ve done over the past three days, that I did not _want_ to talk to you?”

 _“Mum_ wanted me to.” Lily-thing said, very matter-of-factly.

What the fuck was he supposed to say to that? All of the rage, the itch he couldn’t scratch, the screaming chorus of _“get it away shut the girl up”_ had gone from a raging inferno to smoldering ashes. Severus had been hellbent on scaring the brat into never looking in his general direction ever again, but the thought of what might’ve happened to Lily-thing if he hadn’t found her when he did absolutely terrified him, squashing his anger like a bug. Severus couldn’t even muster together enough annoyance to be angry about not being angry. He’d spent all afternoon brooding and planning, while Dumbledore lectured him on how important it was that Lily-thing grew up understanding that love was the most powerful form of magic. It was rather disappointing, after all the trouble Lily-thing had caused.

(the cold from the corridors still hadn’t left his bones)

Severus massaged his temple forcefully. “I’m sure your mother wanted a great deal of things for you.”

Lily-thing frowned. “You don’t _sound_ like you were friends with her. Mum told me you were her best friend when you were kids.”

_She WHAT —_

“Did she?” Severus asked in a toneless voice. His head was throbbing, now. The night would undoubtedly end with a migraine, if not complete mental collapse. There was no world in which Severus desired to talk about his most precious secret with a child who represented everything he’d feared come to pass.

“Yeah,” Lily-thing crossed her arms. “she did. Why don’t you want to talk about her?”

 _Because I killed her,_ said an insidious voice in his head. _Because I killed her and Potter and I almost killed you. I gave up everything and nothing and it still wasn’t enough._

Severus stayed silent, unable to articulate something that wouldn’t make the brat cry. It seemed that silence was just as bad as anything cruel he could have mustered together. Lily-thing’s face fell, like she’d been told Christmas had been canceled, but her eyes stayed bright and unwavering. Severus thanked any god listening that the girl had not inherited her mother’s eyes.

“No one ever wants to talk about them.” Lily-thing whispered, her breath hitching.

 _No,_ Severus wanted to scream at her. _STOP —_

Her eyes were glittering with an ache that Severus knew all too well. “I mean, Aunt Petunia hated Mum because she had magic, and Uncle Vernon is too stupid to think for himself sometimes, I think. I don’t really know, but he didn’t say much about Mum, only Aunt Petunia. Professor Dumbledore was really sad when he told him what happened to Mum and Dad, how they died and all, like that was all that mattered. _Every_ time someone talks about them, it’s only about how they died, that they’re gone and how sad it all is. _I_ know that, and I’m so sick of everyone telling me the same thing over and over. _Why_ won’t anyone tell me about them? I just want to know what they were like. The pictures and even Mum’s letter, it’s —”

“Never enough,” Severus finished. His chest felt like it was made of lead.

Lily-thing’s eyes widened, tears streaming down her cheeks. “Yeah.”

Severus closed his eyes. “You want what the rest of us have, but you don’t understand it like we do. To know your parents was… to lose something more than just two people. We _knew_ them — you did not. Perhaps it was for the best that you didn’t, because then you would have lost something insurmountable. To confront that is… incredibly difficult.”

When he looked up, Lily-thing was staring at the floor again, a look of deep concentration and thought on her thin face. “I never thought about it like that.”

“How could you?” Severus sighed impatiently. “You’ve never experienced true loss before.”

“Yeah but… I’ll never _know,_ you know?” Lily-thing bit her lip. “What they were like, what parts of her are in me. Everyone says I _look_ like Mum but… what else? That can’t be it. And now I can’t even reread what Mum’s said to me, because of the charm. Professor Flitwick said it only disappeared because I didn’t need it anymore, and I feel so horrible because I _do_ need it, I need Mum and the protective magic says I don’t…”

She wiped at her eyes, but her voice was tight with the pang of longing and guilt. The sight was pitiful, if not heart-wrenching. Severus wouldn’t know, because he no longer had a heart. Something similar to one, though, told him that the girl was only acting out in the hopes of getting some scraps of information about Lily, since she’d named him in this blasted letter of hers. Severus still couldn’t comprehend a reason for her needing to emphasize a friendship that ended over a decade ago to her only child, but with Lily’s charm hiding it’s contents, he’d never find out exactly what had been said.

It was going to drive him mad, not knowing. It already had — and if Lily’s daughter kept _crying…_ well, he’d need something stronger than a Calming Draught to get him through the next seven years.

“Let me see it.” Severus said heavily, gesturing for her to hand over the letter. He knew she had it. Lily-thing wasn’t the kind of child to leave sentimental shit laying about. She would carry that letter with her like an albatross around her neck.

Lily-thing gaped at him like a fish for a moment, before she collected herself and glared at him suspiciously. “You didn’t care about it the other night.”

“Miss Evans, you have brawled with a mountain troll, incited chaos in my classroom, injured one of your classmates, and been assigned two detentions since reading this letter. I’m sincerely afraid for the structural integrity of this school if you don’t get what you came here for.”

Her lips twitched as she wiped at her eyes. “You hate me, though.”

Severus considered this statement. He didn’t know the brat well enough to hate her, but she was certainly becoming a thorn in his side. Unfortunately, Lily-thing was the only reason he was at Hogwarts. He hated how meddlesome she was, and he hated her House, but Severus couldn’t say he loathed the brat just yet. There was still time for her to turn into her father, though. The thought upset him more than it should have.

“I do not _hate_ you.” Severus said heavily. “You are, however, making it increasingly difficult not to.”

“Then why do you ignore me?” Lily-thing demanded.

“I ignore everyone.”

“No, you don’t. You don’t ignore the Slytherins.”

“It’s almost as if I’m their Head of House.” Severus said flatly. “I understand it must be a difficult concept to grasp.”

Lily-thing scowled. “You know what I mean.”

“Thankfully, I don’t, because it’s irreverent.” 

She seemed to swallow whatever she wanted to retort with before replying. “You only talk to me when something… happens.”

Severus blinked at her, nonplussed. Dumbledore was right, the girl… expected certain things from him.

“Is that… because of Mum?” she asked in a voice that was a mixture of hope and resignation. 

He quickly ran through the pros and cons of answering yes or no, and then ignoring the brat outright. If he gave Lily-thing what she wanted, maybe she would stop pestering him, but it could also be feeding the beast. Confirming that it was for Lily’s sake, however, would not give the girl any inclination that Severus felt any sort of personal connection to her, because he didn’t, and he never would.

“Yes,” Severus answered, and then he tensed as he waited for her response.

He wasn’t expecting the reaction he received. The girl looked away and wiped at her eyes furiously for a moment before she pulled the letter from her robe pockets, looking back and forth between the letter and desk hesitantly, like she was afraid it would grow teeth and eat the parchment. After a moment, she slammed it down, anxiety creeping into her thin face. Her eyes did not leave the letter, and Severus’ did not leave Lily-thing’s face as he reached for it.

She watched his face carefully, with a hunger that unsettled Severus. They were wild, like a forest made up of stars. Lily-thing fidgeted with her hands and leaned forward in her chair, so much so that it scraped forward, causing her to jump in surprise.

Severus opened the letter, and lowered his eyes to the familiar cursive that had once stained his hands, his notes, and the soles of his boots.

_Where do we go when we walk on light?_

The neat, tidy, secure little box inside his head imploded.

If Severus had a name for this thing roiling inside of his chest, clawing away at his insides and splinting his mind, it would not have mattered. If he could have, he’d have ripped it out of him and flung it somewhere dark; locked it away and thrown away the key. It was unbearable, to say the least. The words on the page were echoes of a friendship that had ended with the kingdom of childhood.

They were words Lily’s daughter never should have known. They were words only he would understand.

Something had crept into Lily-thing’s thin face that shone like starlight. Severus stared at her, trying to make sense of the child’s demeanor, but it was only fueling his rage, as if she’d doused an already burning building with gasoline.

Lily’s letter was not something Severus wanted, not something he could handle, not now, not _ever._ But why would Lily have used _this,_ of all the Charms she could have placed for the girl to break? Unless the Charm was never meant to be broken, and the girl had made a mistake in showing Severus. There was no universe besides this one in which Severus would have known Lily and Potter’s spawn. If they had lived, they undoubtedly would have had a hoard of little Lily-thing monsters, and Severus would have dug himself a hole that led to the center of the Earth to get away from them all.

What was in this fucking letter that Lily desperately wanted to protect? _What did the girl know?_

Severus had to lock this down — he could not bear to be dragged back into the dark abyss that had threatened to swallow him whole ten years ago. Lily was dead, and Severus would do everything in his power to protect her daughter and destroy the Dark Lord, but whatever _this_ was —

He couldn’t know. He didn’t want to know. It would only give rebirth to his grief, which had spent years crystallizing into the jagged shards of bone crushing, heartstopping, mind numbing guilt. It surged through him like a tsunami, growing in size every time.

His head felt like it was in a vice. He stood up, ready to throw the letter into the fire and be done with it for good, for the girl to shriek and scream and tell him that she hated him, but before he could, Lily-thing was suddenly in front of him, her eyes glowing like a solar eclipse.

She must’ve read the expression on his face and known he was about to do something terrible, awful, unforgivable. She was good at that.

"I know about Lily." said the girl. "That you loved her."

Severus froze mid-footfall. He felt as though he’d had the wind knocked out of him.

"She's _my_ mum." her chin lifted, her eyes clear. "She wrote me this letter to tell me about you. You're the only person she really mentioned, but I guess that makes sense, since you're my father. Who else was she supposed to talk about?"

Something was tapping away at Severus’ shields, a claw scratching on glass, a hammer slamming into drywall, a Stunner to the chest. He could not — the room was spinning — the torches were too bright, like the moonlight outside, and everything was overwhelming him as he struggled to steady himself, because he would not would not would _not —_

He closed his eyes.

_green eyes laughing at him laughing with him staring at him from across the room_

_and what do you think of Miss Evans, Severus?_

_James wasn’t nearly as deliberate at Ariel’s age_

_do you promise we’ll be friends forever best friends always friends_

“She said you’re my dad.” Lily-thing’s voice did not waver. “She wanted me to know, said that… if I wanted to, I should tell you. And I do.”

_She mentioned you I thought you’d want to know_

_Mum had magic_

_You said Aunt Petunia hated Mum because Mum had magic_

_Perhaps Lily meant it for James?_

_What do you think of Miss Evans, Severus?_

He could see the pieces coming together, like a dome of multi-colored glass. The pressure in his head mounted, but he opened his eyes.

Severus stared at the girl, and she stared back. Her face was calm and collected, like she was relaying the weather, or something trivial and unimportant. The light in her eyes had grown though, bright and wide and unrelenting in the torchlight. They glowed a deep gold, echoing the colors of her House, with her red hair and gold flecked eyes. She did not look like Lily anymore, no, but someone else. Not Potter — he never would have kept his nerve like this, not with emotions this raw.

He turned around slowly, mechanically. There were no words he could possibly formulate to express his fury, his pain, his overwhelming, all-consuming need for her to _stop,_ to cease speaking and to never do so again.

And then he remembered Dumbledore’s face in the staffroom, the insistent questions about what Severus thought of the girl.

Dumbledore knew.

The furnace that fueled his rage ignited, spreading faster than a forest fire.

Lily-thing pointed to the letter in his hands, inches away from the fireplace. “Read it, then, if you don’t believe me.” her eyes challenged him, goaded him, dared him. “You know the counter-spell, don’t you? That’s why you don’t want to read it. Mum knew you could keep the secret too, but that you had to read it for yourself to know the truth.”

“What you’re proposing is _impossible.”_ Severus said, and the words hurt his throat on their way out. “Your mother stopped speaking to me after fifth year.”

“Mum Obliviated you. She said you wouldn’t remember.”

_Lily across the pub with the werewolf what was she doing here she wasn’t SAFE_

_be careful who you invite into your soul, Severus_

The floor had begun to tilt. Severus steadied himself on the desk. “She never would have —”

“You _made_ her!” Lily-thing’s voice finally broke, like a quill snapping in two. “You _made_ her Obliviate you ever seeing her. That’s why she couldn’t tell you before — before she _died,_ okay? You saved her during some battle —”

_Bellatrix’s maniacal cackle cutting through the air like a knife as Lily stumbled back, raising her hand over her eyes —_

“ — and she said that you two talked. I don’t know much after that because she didn’t say a whole lot, but Dad knew too, he was protecting us.”

_I’d wash your pants if I were you, Snivellus_

_Who wants to see me take off Snivellus’ trousers?_

_She’d never love someone like you_

Severus almost laughed out loud, then. “Potter wouldn’t have lifted a finger to protect a child he knew was mine.”

He heard her breath catch in her throat. “He _did,_ Mum said —”

“She was _mistaken,_ then.” Severus said cruelly, but he knew that she wasn’t. Lily never would have made something this insane up for the hell of it, wouldn’t have told her only child, a child she’d died for, but it was impossible —

“She wanted you to know.” Lily-thing said, fists balling at her sides. _“I_ wanted you to know, but I didn’t know how to tell you.”

There were tears forming in her eyes now, and it was with another wave of horror that Severus realized that the girl was going to cry again. He didn’t move, partly because he didn’t think he could. The heaviness in his chest was turning into something that burned like ice, an unmistakable pang throbbing in the back of his head, as though there were a hole there, something just out of reach, just out of touch that Severus couldn’t see.

“I wouldn’t lie about this!” Lily-thing said, her voice growing louder, the anger behind it building like water behind a dam. “Why would I? I didn’t want this!”

“Then why not keep it to yourself?” Severus sneered. _Get it away shut it up get it AWAY._

She flinched, finally, like Severus had brandished a whip.

Her eyes had gone out, like a candle doused, and that was when Severus saw it, really and truly saw what the girl was talking about. They were fathomless, bottomless, sucking up whatever the girl had opened and set free in the room. The eyes were running away, hiding, escaping —

When she spoke, her voice was so soft that Severus had to strain his ears to hear.

“I never should have told you,” Miss Evans whispered. “I never should have let you see.”

The eyes —

The _eyes —_

Severus was sincerely afraid he was going to be sick. The room had begun to spin, the fire lashing at his skin as the floor rushed up — 

When he looked up, the girl, and the letter, were gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: The truth is out, hooray! Now we can begin the process of making Snape FEEL things. Mwahaha.
> 
> I did this chapter only from Snape’s POV for obvious reasons. Next chapter will be a little ~different~ but it’ll be a break from this little shitshow.
> 
> The inner-monologue about time being tricky is a modified quote from E.R Frank
> 
> Reviews are really super duper appreciated, and help a lot in terms of motivation! xx


	9. lily: part i

Dumbledore’s door was open when Severus arrived, an ominous invitation hanging over the threshold.

He couldn’t feel his hands or feet. His heart slammed against his sternum like rainfall.

_not possible she married Potter it's impossible_

Only one source of light met Severus as he entered. The Pensive stood in the middle of the room, casting moving, unending shadows that swirled around him like a secret. Dumbledore stood beside it, as though he were a priest waiting for Severus to give confession. His eyes were the color of the Pensive’s shadows. A feeling in his chest like a fist was pulsing wildly as Severus tried to rationalize what was happening.

_mum obliviated you she said you wouldn’t remember_

_you loved her_

_you made her_

“You knew.” Severus tried to scream, but it came out hollow and quiet, like wind whistling through a log. 

Dumbledore clasped his hands together tightly in front of him. “I did not know anything definitively.” he said, with a calmness that made Severus’ molars ache. “Ariel had Lily’s letter in her possession, so it was impossible to know for certain.”

Severus wanted to rip open the air in front of them and suck them both into it. He wanted to bend the fabric of time so he could break out of this reality and back into the one where Lily’s daughter left him alone, and Severus was no one’s father.

_she said you’re my dad_

_you’re my father_

“It’s not —” Severus tried to say, but he was quickly interrupted.

“Surely Severus, you recognize the eyes?” Dumbledore’s own were steely blue, the color of amethyst and the ocean during a storm.

_I never should have told you I never should have let you see_

_bright eyes like the galaxy that housed stars_

To have Dumbledore confirming this madness was almost too much to bear. Severus felt like he was stuck in a nightmare that kept stretching on and on, and any moment now, he’d awaken in his chambers, the girl’s detention a distant memory. Deep down, beneath the box where Lily was kept, in a place so dark and cold that it was unreachable to even him, Severus knew that Lily’s daughter and Dumbledore were telling the truth.

(he had killed Lily twice, now)

The moving shapes on the wall were becoming distorted as the room spun around him. Severus steadied himself on the bookcase beside the door and glared viciously at him. “Why not tell me, then? Why allow me to be blindsided?”

“You would not have accepted it, had it come from me. This was Ariel’s task, not mine.” Dumbledore finally looked away, his unrelenting stare moving to the Pensive. “I wrestled with the idea of telling you myself, but it was quite clear from Lily’s memories that she always intended for you to know based on Ariel’s own assessment of you.”

“She is a _child!”_ Severus snarled.

“She is _your_ child,” Dumbledore said solemnly. “and one you have vowed to protect at all costs. You already had a personal stake in her arrival to Hogwarts. However, I was uncertain if Ariel had actually read Lily’s letter. When Filius informed me that she was inquiring about it, I suspected that she’d been unable, but when you revealed that she already knew the contents, it was only a matter of time until Ariel told you herself. As I mentioned previously, your efforts at Petunia’s did not go unnoticed.”

“I am wholly _un_ suitable!” he looked around wildly for a route of escape, but something inside of him when rumbling to life, an overwhelming urge to look inside the Pensive and retrieve what he had unknowingly lost. “Even if the girl _is_ mine, the very thought —”

“This type of rejection is what led Tom down a path he could not come back from.” Dumbledore said in a voice like iron — cold, hard, and heavy.

“The girl is not the Dark Lord.” Severus thought of the look of wonder in her eyes when she’d first gazed up at Hogwarts. She’d been missing a shoe after Apparating and had twigs sticking out of her hair, but she’d worn an expression of pure joy, like she was the luckiest girl in the world instead of spending almost her entire life stuffed inside of a cupboard, like an old sock. She was Lily’s daughter through and through.

“No, she’s not.” Dumbledore agreed. “She is moldable, though. She possesses an incredible capacity to love, not so different from the devotion you’ve shown her mother. That kind of ability can easily be turned into something dark and unreachable. You cannot allow her to fall victim to that. It’s imperative that Ariel grows up understanding that love transcends all else.”

“Lily would not have wanted a Death Eater to raise her only child.” Severus said through bloodless lips.

Dumbledore stared at him for a long time, as if he were a creature he’d never seen before. There was pity in his gaze, though, and an immense amount of sadness that Severus had seen in the girl’s face moments earlier. It curled around his heart like barbed wire, cutting away at him piece by piece.

“She has left you a memory,” Dumbledore finally said. “two, actually. I believe she wanted the second to be viewed by both you and Ariel — together. The first, however, was intended for you, Severus.”

He warily stepped towards the Pensive

and prepared himself to face his sins.

* * *

_8 December, 1979_

It was bitterly cold for a winter day in Hogsmeade. Sure, it was _always_ cold this far north in Scotland, but something was different about today that chilled Lily to the bone.

It was a welcome distraction to think about the cold again. It had been only a few months since Lily had been to Hogsmeade, but it brought back a familiarity that Hogwarts and school had always held in her mind, and in her heart. James and Sirius, flying into the Quidditch store the second they arrived, leaving Lily and Remus to roll their eyes after them. Peter had always stood there, looking torn between who he’d rather go with. Usually, it was James, but Peter had been acting rather strangely towards their final days as students and had resigned himself to the Gryffindor common room to study instead of accompanying them on their weekend outings. Lily didn’t blame him. All of the things happening were too scary to face, unless you had to.

Lily pushed the thought away from her mind. The wind bit at her heels as she picked up her pace and headed for the Hog’s Head **.** As she entered the pub, the warm air and cacophony of voices hit her senses, and for a moment, she was a student again. But reality soon settled in as several unfamiliar faces turned to look at the new patron, and it was then that Lily remembered that she was in the middle of a war and not a doey-eyed school girl. But then again, had she ever been one?

He was sitting in the farthest corner, away from all the people and with his head down, though he lit up at the sight of her. It didn’t hide the bags under his eyes or the mess of hair atop his head. Even in the dimness of the pub’s light, Lily could sense the weariness radiating from him like solar flares.

“You’re not taking care of yourself again, Remus.” Lily sighed as she slid into the chair across from him. “It’s only been a week since I’ve last seen you and you already look worse. Can’t I trust James to take care of you?”

“If anyone needs to be taken care of, it’s James.” Remus smiled, though it was a sad one that didn’t quite reach his kind, grey eyes.

“Don’t you start.” Lily warned. “We’re talking about _you_ right now, Remus Lupin.”

“He’s lost without you, Lily.”

“He asked me to _marry him,_ Remus.” Lily rolled her eyes. “You act as though he asked if he was allowed to buy a dog. Stop trying to change the subject. How’re you feeling?”

He sighed, a heavy sound that folded over them like a blanket. “You _can_ say no, you know. Or at least, no for right now.”

Oh, she knew she could. Quite frankly, Lily had contemplated saying it right then and there when James had asked – bent down on one knee, his hazel eyes gazing up at her, burning for the _“yes,”_ that hadn’t come as naturally as Lily had thought it would. But they were only eighteen, for Merlin’s sake, and while she knew that she loved James, she didn’t know if it was enough for her right now. With the recent death of her parents and a war raging on around her where people like Lily were being targeted, marriage seemed very, _very_ tempting, a safety net that would have caught her just as she’d fallen, and she felt _very_ comfortable falling with James.

But she hadn’t, and so Lily had gently told James that she needed time to think, time apart from him for a while. And so she and Remus, who had turned out to be her closest companion during these past three years, met up weekly, where he would try and convince her to talk to James, and Lily would try and convince _him_ to take better care of himself. Honestly, what was Sirius doing? Why wasn’t _he_ helping?

That was a stupid question. He was probably doting on James, who stopped functioning when hit with any sort of negative emotion. James would fold like a house of cards, which made having any sort of productive conversation with him near impossible. It frustrated Lily to no end, because her temper was explosive, and every time it ignited James would simply apologize. It drove Lily mad, not being able to argue with him. You _had_ to argue about things, or else, nothing would be resolved.

Lily didn’t answer Remus, partly because she didn’t want to, and because she didn’t know _how_ to answer.

Instead, she reached a hand across the table and took Remus’ in hers. “How are you? Really?”

“I’m fine, Lily.” Remus sighed, squeezing her hand before pulling away. “I’m about the same… maybe a little more tired than usual. With all these missions Dumbledore has us going on, I don’t get as much sleep as I’d like to, but that doesn’t matter with everything that’s happening…”

“Of course it matters!” she frowned. “Remus, if you need a break, I’m sure someone else could take over.”

“I’m fine.” he shook his head and gave a soft chuckle. “Really, I’d rather be busy helping than sitting around and waiting for James and Sirius to get back. I’d go mad.”

“How do you think _I_ feel?” Lily grumbled, crossing her arms tightly across her chest and looking out the window. “One battle so far, and I was barely there for ten minutes.”

 _“That much?”_ Remus echoed. “Lily, Bellatrix sent a Killing Curse whizzing past your head!”

_“Avada Kedavra!” a high pitched voice cackled from her right, and Lily dove out of the way just in time as a ray of green light hit the wall she’d just been standing in front of._

_“Come on, witch bitch!” Bellatrix cackled, pointing her wand down at Lily, whose chest heaved up and down as she glared up at her. She was the only one not wearing a mask, the rest of the Death Eaters silent and white-faced, like ghosts. Bellatrix’s ice-blue eyes locked onto Lily’s green, and just as both the witches went to raise their wands again, something unexpected happened._

_“Stupefy!” a voice bellowed, and Bellatrix went flying through the air, several feet away from Lily, who had kneeled over. She scrambled to her feet, looking at the now unconscious bundle of black robes and hair, and wondered if she should try and arrest her, or wait for an Auror._

_“Go!” the same voice snapped, causing Lily’s head to whip around in search of the person it belonged to._

_Her wand went up when a figure stepped out the shadows, a Death Eater mask covering his face and wand lowered. The tip still glowed red from the Stunner._

_Lily recognized that voice anywhere._

_“Severus?” she croaked._

_“Lily?” James’ frantic voice called from somewhere, “Lils, are you alright?”_

_She turned in the direction James’ voice, and the masked man Apparated away –_

Lily hadn’t told James or Remus or anyone else in the Order who had saved her. She’d simply told them that someone’s stray Stunner had done the job, though it was of little use in the end. Another Death Eater had grabbed the unconscious Bellatrix and Apparated away before anyone could put her in a Body Bind.

Lily thought about it a lot more than she probably should be. She’d even begun to _dream_ about it. It was horrifying enough knowing that her ex-best friend had joined Voldemort, but it was nothing compared to the confusion that clouded her already flustered mind. If Severus wanted to fight against the Order and help Voldemort, then why bother _saving her?_ If Voldemort won, Lily would most likely be killed – or worse _._ She’d heard the way Mulciber and Avery jeered at her during seventh year. James and Sirius had nearly Hexed them bloody before Remus and her dragged them away, but her old friend had never once done that. Severus had avoided her like the plague since the day she’d refused to forgive him. That didn’t excuse the fact that he’d actually gone and _become_ one of them… but why had he saved her? What did he have to gain from that?

“I know, I know… I just feel like I could be doing more.” Lily sighed, leaning forward on her elbows and looking out the fogged up window as she tried to clear her mind. “You know me, Remus. I can’t sit still for long.”

“It’s been quiet.” Remus ducked his head and leaned towards her, all traces of lightheartedness suddenly gone from his grey eyes. “It’s not that Dumbledore isn’t using you… You-Know-Who’s on the low again. We don’t know why, but it can’t be good. There’s been talk of bigger attacks being planned on the Ministry… more people disappearing…”

“Then I should _know!”_ Lily snapped. “Why isn’t anyone _telling_ me anything? Is it James? Is he trying to protect me?”

Remus hesitated, and she stood up, suddenly furious.

“Oh, come on now, Lils!” Remus pleaded, grabbing the sleeve of her jumper. “He’s scared senseless for you! You know he just wants to see you safe, and since you’re not together, he just wants to make sure nothing happens that he could have prevented.”

“I can take care of myself!” Lily all but shouted. Several patrons turned to look, giving her wary glares, which caused her to sit back down. She scowled and turned away from Remus, crossing her arms tightly across her chest.

“I _know.”_ Remus sounded exasperated. “He loves you, Lily, and love makes people do things without thinking. Don’t be mad at him. If things get bad again, I’m sure you’ll be called.”

“He just _had_ to go and ask me to marry him.” Lily fell back into her seat and buried her face in her hands. “He _had_ to go and complicate things. For Merlin’s sake, we’re only _eighteen_ , Remus! What is this – 1790? I… I can’t _think_ about something like that right now!”

“Yes, imagine that.” Remus rolled his eyes. “A man loves you and wants to spend the rest of his life with you. What a notion.”

“Shut up. You know what I mean.”

“I do.” He sighed, crossing his arms in front of him and leaning forward. “Listen, I’m not saying you need to give him an answer. Hell, I’m not saying you have to marry the poor bloke. But reach out to him, let him know how you’re doing. I can hear him pacing his room at night. It’s starting to drive Padfoot mad.”

Lily sighed. She wondered if and when things got better, she would wonder why she drove herself mad over all these dilemmas. Or maybe she was destined to be conflicted all the time. Indecision could be deadly, though. Lily had seen it during battle, how even the slightest pause could seal your fate.

Lily shuddered, pushing the thought away from her. Death was too real to think about, even if it was preventative thinking.

“I don’t want to get married in the middle of a war, Remus.” she muttered, looking back out the window and the wind swirling the fallen snow outside. “I _do_ love him… I just don’t know if I love him enough to say yes.”

It was true. Lily couldn’t deny that the arrogant little toerag she’d been battling since first year had finally won her over once he’d matured and stopped attacking a certain Slytherin every chance he’d gotten. Once she’d gotten to know him, Lily had realized that James was just what she needed after the day that same Slytherin had called her a Mudblood – _simple_. He loved unconditionally and wholeheartedly. There was no fighting, no days of wondering who would break the silence first, no wondering what the other was thinking. Of course, perhaps that was one-sided, because some days James really didn’t seem to understand certain aspects of her. Meanwhile Lily got him perfectly. Sweet, uncomplicated James —

“He knows that, too.” Remus’ eyes lowered themselves to the tabletop. “Lily, you can’t just keep avoiding the fact that –”

His eyes snapped up suddenly, widening as Lily’s own shone with confusion at his sudden change in demeanor. He reached into the pocket of his robes, extracting a blue stone each member of the Order had been given in case of emergency. It vibrated and turned pink when the holder was needed. Lily had almost forgotten just how brightly it shined, for hers hadn’t lit up in weeks.

“I have to go.” Remus stumbled out of his chair as Lily let out a frustrated cry.

“Unbelievable!” she snarled, crossing her arms tightly across her chest. Lily fell back against the chair with an angry huff.

“I’m sorry, Lily.” he apologized clumsily as he buttoned his cloak around him, giving her cheek a quick peck before rushing past her. “I’ll Floo you later.”

“Be careful!” Lily called after him, wishing she could have hugged him before he left. Remus hated being touched… or rather, he was afraid of people touching him because of his condition. Sirius constantly teased him about it, pointing out that you couldn’t catch “werewolf cooties,” but Lily knew it went deeper than that. Remus like a boarded up well — there was so much depth there, but you couldn’t get past the opening to see further down.

Lily stood, ready to storm home and sulk for the rest of the day. She wrapped her cloak tightly around her, eyeing flitting to the other side of the pub, nearly missing the very person she’d been thinking so much about the past few weeks.

His obsidian eyes met hers, and Lily’s heart skipped a beat.

Immediately her first instinct was to get the hell out of there, but for a terrifying moment, Lily wondered if it might be too late. How long did she have before Death Eaters swooped in and dragged her away? Or maybe he would kill her right then and there. After all, she _was_ a Muggleborn, and a part of the Order to boot. How many times had the Slytherins at school told her she was way, _way_ out of line, that she was too naive to notice how far out of bounds she really was?

And then there was the question of how long he had been here. Had he already been here when she came in? Had she seen Remus leave? Oh god —

An odd tugging at the back of her mind snapped her back to the present and made Lily realize that she’d been staring dumbly back at him. Her heart began to beat to a new rhythm of panic. Lily held his gaze for what seemed like an eternity, and when nothing happened, she let out the breath she’d been holding in. She simply stood there, watching, until his lips twitched at the ends and he finally turned back around towards what she assumed was his drink.

Lily’s temper immediately ignited, like lightning striking a tree in the middle of a forest. Was there something _funny_ about her being scared out of her wits at the sight of him that she was missing? Though Lily wasn’t quite sure she was _fearful…_ the last time she’d seen Severus Snape, it had been on their last trip home on the Hogwarts Express, and they hadn’t spoken for two years before that. Not since the night she’d turned him away at Gryffindor Tower and something had begun eating away at her. She hadn’t even known Severus was really a Death Eater until he saved her. James and Sirius had their suspicions, but they’d never been able to prove anything.

No matter — Lily found herself determined to find out what his deal was before contemplating if antagonizing a _Death Eater_ was a good idea or not. Between being frustrated at James and the Order and her recent ponderings over Severus, Lily was done wondering. It was time to get some bloody answers for once.

She stormed over to the bar, throwing herself onto the stool beside her oldest friend, who looked _very_ taken aback at her sudden boldness. She needed a drink to get through this. She’d needed one for a while now, actually — some liquid courage would make this _much_ easier, anyway.

“Firewhiskey.” Lily told the bartender, who raised an eyebrow at her. She raised one right back, biting the inside of her cheek, only lowering it once he began to pour a glass. She glanced at Severus, finding that his own eyebrow was reaching his forehead, though he looked less confused and a _lot_ more curious now.

“Would you like one?” Lily gestured with her hands to the drink placed in front of her sarcastically, flipping her hair over her shoulder as she took her first sip. It burned her throat, but in a good way.

His lips pursed together, but Severus still did not speak.

“Fine, be that way.” Lily gulped the rest of it down, sliding the glass back towards the bartender, who seemed reluctant to serve her another. “I can take a hint.”

“I haven’t said anything.” Severus finally said, the familiar silk of his voice causing a shiver to go down her spine.

“You don’t need to.” she quipped, downing half of the second glass. “Actions _do_ speak louder than words.”

He stiffened at this, sitting up straighter in the stool, before he pushed away from the bar, making the wooden legs screech against the stone floor. His raven hair fell around his thin jawline, like a thick curtain, barely covering the flash of betrayal on his face.

“Going back to your friends, then?” Lily called quietly, sobering up immediately. She didn’t know why, but a part of her ached at the idea of him leaving.

Severus’ back was turned to her. He stopped dead in his tracks at her words.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” he said in a low voice.

“I’m not an idiot, Severus.” Lily muttered, staring at the wall in front of her. The bartender had gone off to the opposite end, leaving them both alone and tense at the farthest corner of the bar. “I may be a Mudblood,” he turned around at this, black eyes widening as Lily took another sip of firewhiskey. “but I’m not stupid.”

“I didn’t…” Severus swallowed loudly and turned back around. “I don’t consider you to be either of those things, Lily.”

“Really? Because Bellatrix and Macnair sure seem to think so. You know them, don’t you? You’re all good friends, from what _I’ve_ seen.”

His nostrils flared angrily, hands balling at his side, but Lily met his furious scowl with her own. She knew it was borderline suicidal to provoke him like this, that he could easily take her life with the flick of his wand, or call others to come and take her. But she had so many questions for him, and now that she had found him all alone, they nearly clawed their way up her throat. Part of her wondered what the hell she was doing, mocking a Death Eater, but she could see little flashes of _her_ Sev behind the man he had become –

“Bellatrix Lestrange and Walden Macnair are _not_ my fucking friends.” he hissed, his hooked nose suddenly inches away from hers.

“Well, maybe not Bellatrix.” Lily replied coldly, holding his gaze. “After all, I don’t think _friends_ Stun one another in order to save the enemy, now do they?”

Severus leaned away, and Lily could tell she’d caught him off guard. She suppressed a triumphant smirk, realizing that this might be the first time she’d _ever_ done so. He’d always been quick when they were kids. She’d never been able to pull one over on him, Severus had always been clever like that.

He sighed and shook his head slightly, slumping back onto the stool Lily had originally found him om. “You know, I used to think the reason you hated me so much is because you didn’t get me. And I think maybe I was right.” raw anger and hurt leaked into his voice. “You really don’t know me at all.”

“I don’t hate you.” Lily murmured, eyes trained on the still busy bartender. “I’ve never hated you, and if you think that, then you don’t know me very well either.”

Severus’ eyes met hers, and it was then that Lily realized that the hungry looked he had so often gazed upon her with when they were kids had manifested itself on his face again. It had once fascinated her, made her wonder, even, but now, it frightened Lily.

“I shouldn’t be here.” Severus breathed, his glare turning to the other bar patrons, who had begun to watch them with an unsettling curiosity. “I should go…”

“You could at least explain yourself.” Lily pushed the drink towards him in invitation, gesturing with her eyes. “I’d like to know why you saved my life.”

“How do you know it was me?” the arched, skeptical eyebrow was back, though he was still tensed, as though he were wound up and ready to spring away any second.

 _“Right.”_ she nodded, as though she were deep in thought. “I never considered the possibility of it being Lucius Malfoy.”

Severus’ lip curled.

“I _do_ deserve an answer.” Lily continued. “You ignore me for two years and then —”

“I _ignored you?”_ his nostrils flared. “I… I _begged_ you to forgive me, Lily! You ran off with fucking _Potter –”_

“You called me a Mudblood!” she snapped back, “And then you _joined_ the very people who’d love nothing more than to kill me! What the hell _else_ was I supposed to do? Throw you a parade? You were acting like a prick, and I couldn’t stand it anymore. You — you called me that _awful_ word in front of half the school!”

“And _you_ said that you could never like a simpleton like Potter!” Severus snarled. “And now you’re going to _marry_ him!”

“That’s none of your business!” she wondered how he knew that. She’d said _no…_ how the _hell –_

“And what I do is none of yours.” Severus shot back with a precision like an arrow. “You couldn’t possibly understand — you never wanted to! I deserved every bit of what you said to me the last time we spoke, you’re right, but don’t you dare act like I would have just given up on our friendship. You know I never would have if you’d given me another chance.”

Lily let her hurt show at this, though she didn’t know why. He _was_ right – they hadn’t been friends for nearly three years now. Why _should_ she care about what Severus decided to do with the rest of his life?

_Because it stung knowing that her best friend wanted her dead —_

“I guess I don’t understand you, Severus.” Lily said quietly, all her previous swagger and bravery gone, leaving her with nothing but an aching sadness and longing. “Why you would save someone who You-Know-Who thinks is worthless is beyond me. I wanted to know why you did it, is all.”

His mouth was partially opened, and a thin, pale hand inched its way toward her before it fell back to his side. He sighed and rubbed his temple, as though harboring a headache.

“I have a room.” said Severus in a weary voice. “It’s nearby if you wish to… to _talk.”_

Lily blinked. “You’re inviting me up to your _room?”_

“Not like _that.”_ his face went red and she fought the overwhelming urge to giggle at this. “We… Lily, it’s dangerous. If the wrong person were to walk in and see us… I’d do what I could, but I… I’d be more comfortable speaking if we were out of the public eye.”

“Where?”

“Across the street.”

“Fine.” she hopped up, extending her hand to him, who eyed it as though it were a kind of foreign object. “Let’s go to your _room,_ then.”

* * *

This was not what Severus had been expecting. All he’d wanted was a fucking drink, and now Lily Evans was climbing the stairs to his room with him. He’d been stationed here by the Dark Lord to keep an eye on the school, and Hogwarts. Sometimes, Dumbledore wandered down from the castle late at night, most of the time to see his brother. It was hard to accept that those two were in any way related — Aberforth spoke to the goats the same way Dumbledore addressed his students. It was… disturbing, but that was the only eventful thing that happened in Hogsmeade, which was why Severus had decided that a drink was the only way he was going to get through another long night of watching and doing nothing until he was Called again.

“Why’re you staying here?” Lily asked as they strode down the hall, Severus searching his cloak for his key. “You have a house, don’t you?”

“You know as well as I do that I hate that shithole.” he shoved the key into the hole, and threw the door opening, jerking his head at her to get inside. She hesitated for a moment, like she was just _now_ having second thoughts, but lifted her chin and strode inside.

Severus rolled his eyes and followed after her, locking the door behind him.

Lily stood in the center in the room, taking it in, Severus presumed, as he took off his cloak and dropped the keys on the table beside the door. It wasn’t much – a bed, a chest, a desk, two nightstands, and his own bathroom. The room smelt strongly of mothballs, but Severus didn’t care enough to complain to the staff. He was barely here.

Outside, it had begun to sleet steadily. He wouldn’t be surprised if it turned into a full blown blizzard by morning.

“How’s your mum?” Lily asked quietly, taking Severus completely off guard.

He blinked back. “I… fine, I suppose. I wouldn’t know.”

“Oh.” her eyebrows knitted together. “Why’s that?”

“She went to live with a relative after I finished Hogwarts. She left me the house.”

Lily’s eyebrows hit her forehead. “She just… _left?”_

“She had told me she would stay until I finished school.” Severus said flatly. “There was no need for her to linger.”

She still looked troubled by this. “I’m… sorry.”

He snorted. “Don’t be.”

“Well, I am.” Lily looked away. “I can’t imagine if my mum had…”

Severus heard the breath hitch in her throat and felt his chest squeeze in sympathy – the kind he thought he’d lost long ago. The kind he was to have forgotten the day he’d taken the Dark Mark.

_do you swear your devotion Severus your unwavering loyalty your mind and body_

“I heard about the accident.” Severus said quietly. “I was sorry to hear it.”

“Thanks.” Lily cleared her throat. “I heard your dad —”

“Let’s not bring him into this.”

“I know you never cared much for him, but it still must’ve —”

“He was a miserable bastard.” Severus waved her away. “He got what he deserved.”

Lily flinched at his callousness, and he wondered if she’d forgotten just how little he cared for anyone but her – no, she must have, because when she’d first looked back at him in the bar, her eyes had widened in fear and she’d tensed to bolt –

“I’m still sorry.” said Lily quietly. “I wanted to go to the funeral, but…”

“It would have been a waste of your time.” said Severus coldly. “It was certainly a waste of mine.”

He could see her response on the tip of her lips, the words whizzing into the air between them – _that’s a horrid thing to say, Severus, he’s your dad!_ Lily restrained herself, however, her reluctance clearly written all over her face. Her nose scrunched up, and blush in her cheeks deepened.

“I still would’ve liked to have been there for you.” Lily muttered, sitting down on the edge of the bed.

 _“Be_ there for me?” Severus scoffed. “For my fucking _father?_ He was a walking corpse, Lily. Save your pity.”

She went fuchsia. “It’s called being a good fr – _person,_ Severus.”

He barked a cold laugh. “Go ahead – say it.”

“Say _what?”_

Severus could feel the tension in the air as if he could reach out and touch it. _“Friend._ We haven’t been friends for years, Lily. Why should _you,_ of all people, care?”

She flinched, and he winced as a look of fresh hurt spread over her face. The green in her eyes was so dim that it looked like moss. Lily bit her lip and rubbed at her eyebrow – she’d used to pick at them when she’d been stressed at school. One day, she’d come down to the Great Hall with half of the right one missing before their first OWL exam.

“I’ve joined the Order.” Lily leveled her stare with his. She’d never been intimidated once they both became heated.

Severus inhaled deeply through his nose. “I know.”

“I _know_ you know.” Lily huffed, crossing her arms. “You saw me that night —”

 _“Don’t,”_ he snarled.

“– and you saved me.” she went on, ignoring him. “I came up here because I want you to tell me why.”

Severus had replayed that night in his head over and over until he’d made himself sick. He’d turned away from dueling some Order member he hadn’t recognized, the moonlight reflecting off of her scarlet hair catching his attention. When he’d realized it was Lily, a rage so strong and so vicious had overcome him – why was she _here,_ what the _fuck_ was Albus Dumbledore _thinking,_ putting her in a _battle –_

She would have volunteered, because this was Lily, and her life mattered little to her if others depended on it. Of fucking _course_ she’d joined the Order. Every battle Severus fought was spent combing the crowd for her, for her voice, for the flash of red.

His heart had choked him, beating hard and fast in the center of his throat. There was a satisfied smirk on Lily’s face as she dueled another Death Eater. Severus could barely make out the mask, but quickly found that it was Reg. He’d shot a Stunner at the Order member, sending him crashing against the wall, when Severus had caught Bellatrix creeping up behind Lily –

Severus’ heart ached as Lily waited for his answer.

“It doesn’t matter.” he said tonelessly. “What’s done is done.”

Lily stared back at him in blatant disbelief for a long moment, and then, she exhaled sharply. Her face went so white that the freckles on the bridge of her nose disappeared.

“It — doesn’t — _matter?”_ Lily fumed, her volume increasing with every word. “Doesn’t _MATTER?_ Stop being such a pill, Severus Snape!”

“You don’t know anything about me!” Severus snarled back. “You don’t know why I do the things I do… you can’t _possibly –”_

“Really? Because there was a time when you said you thought I was the only one who ever could!”

“That was before you told me you never wanted to see me again.” _she remembered that she remembered._

“You became what I was afraid of!” Lily shouted, and the sound twisted his insides. “How could I continue to be your friend when you were going down a path I couldn’t follow? You… you called me –”

“You ended our friendship because you couldn’t _handle_ it.” Severus sneered, feeding into his pain, because that was all that Lily had left him, and it was useless. “But you could handle _Potter,_ with his simple life and kind words and galleons galore –”

“How _dare_ you!” her voice made the hair stand up on his arms. “You don’t know anything _about_ James, or me, or our relationship, for that matter!”

“He asked you to marry him – I’d say I know just enough.”

“And I said _no,_ you arse!”

Lily had stood, her fists balled tightly at her sides. She didn’t seem to bother trying to hide the fact that she was trembling. Severus felt like he had just taken a Stunner to the chest.

“What? What are you – _why?”_ Severus asked, feeling extremely stupid, the way he always did where Lily was concerned. She possessed the extraordinary talent of catching him completely off guard at times.

Lily fell back onto the bed, and buried her face with her hands. “I… I don’t know.”

“You don’t… _know.”_

“How the hell did you even hear?” Lily gave him a one-eyed glare. “Who the hell told you that?”

“Regulus.” Severus said flatly. “Black saw him briefly — he mentioned it in passing.”

“Of course he did.” she muttered. Her face was buried in her hands, and Severus could tell she was crying.

Guilt crashed into him all at once, wrapping itself around his windpipe and squeezed. It shouldn’t have fucking mattered if Lily was still with Potter or not – she was right; they _hadn’t_ been friends for nearly two years now. He was such an idiot, bringing him up at all, when he himself was the hypocrite, a Death Eater, a servant to the Dark Lord, standing in a bedroom inn with Lily Evans, who was staring at him like she wanted Severus to break in two.

“Merlin, Severus…” Lily sighed, her breath hitching.

“My apologies.” he ducked his head, unable to meet her eyes. “I shouldn’t have… you’re right. It’s none of my business who you…” he couldn’t finish the sentence. The thought was too unbearable.

Lily looked up, a look of puzzlement on her face. “You’re not… happy?”

Severus blinked. “Happy?”

“That I’m… not going to marry him. At least… not right now.” Lily wiped at her eyes. “I mean… Merlin, just look at me. I’m a wreck.”

“You’re clearly miserable without him.” Severus was incapable of keeping the bitterness out of his voice.

“I’ve been miserable for a lot longer than that.” Lily murmured. “I keep losing the people I care about.”

He took a cautious step away from the door, and towards her. “Lily…”

“I thought if you didn’t already,” said Lily. “that you’d hate me once I started dating James, and I did. I made myself believe that you _must_ , because you were one of _them,_ and I was with James, who you’d always despised. When you saved me all those months ago, it contradicted everything I made myself believe, and when James asked me to marry him I just… I couldn’t say yes, all of a sudden, even though I _wanted_ to, because everything is so _fucked –”_

A strange sense of dread was creeping over Severus; one he didn’t want to confront. Lily swearing was never a good sign.

“I have never been your enemy.” he closed the gap in between them. “Surely you know that now… knowing what happened with Bellatrix.”

“I didn’t ask you to do that.”

“But I did.” his voice felt rough, like sandpaper. “For you.”

“But why?” Lily shook her head.

“Because I have never _stopped_ being your friend.” Severus said in a very quiet voice.

Lily’s head lifted, her eyes watering. There was something in her face that hurt to look at, like wonder, or maybe it was pity. It was sharp and tangible, tainting the air around her. Lily had always worn her heart on her sleeve, and right now, she was radiating something that nestled beneath Severus’ heart. It was the same feeling he’d had when they’d laid beside the creek together for the first time, or when Lily had almost Hexed Potter’s nose off.

“How was I supposed to know that?” she sounded like she was asking herself, not him. “You’re a _Death Eater,_ Severus… Merlin, you could bring me to You-Know-Who right now, and –”

“I’ve just _told_ you,” Severus snapped, his heart racing. “I wouldn’t… I _couldn’t—”_

“Yes, I know, you’ve said it a million times already — and I believe you.” Lily said softly. Her eyes were like freshly watered cloves.

His hands had gone completely numb, but the part of him that still clung to reality, to that cold, dark place where his feelings did not exist made him swallow the tightness clogging his throat.

“And why,” Severus asked in a razor sharp voice, trying to cut through Lily’s kaleidoscope face, filled with too many things he didn’t understand. “would you do that?”

It was Lily’s turn to look bewildered. Severus leaned against the table by the door, watching her on the bed as she battled with herself. She’d always been an open book, her thoughts so easy to read as they flashed across her face. He couldn’t understand many of them, understand why they were there, that she was here –

“I don’t think you’re mad, and I don’t think you’re a psychopath.” Lily said, and Severus’ world began blurring around the edges. “I also don’t think you’re a sick, twisted monster. I don’t think you’re a heartless murderer, and I don’t think you deserve to die, and I don’t think you’re pathetic. Or stupid. Or a coward. I don’t think you’re any of the things people have said about you… about what you must be because you’re a Death Eater.” 

“Why?” Severus whispered, an overwhelming feeling of panic flooding through him. He had to leave, this was… unfathomable and nonsensical and –

Lily looked straight at him, her gaze telling him to look back, and Severus had no choice but to obey. “Because I know you’re still in there – that _Sev_ is still somewhere, deep down. I could see him slipping away when we were in school, and it terrified me, because if _I_ couldn’t save him… I felt like a failure as a friend because of _that, not_ because I _had_ to let you go.”

“You didn’t have to –”

“I did, Sev.” Lily stared at him with such sincerity that it made his skin feel raw, like he was being buried in the sleet outside.

“I’ve… never regretted something as much,” said Severus. “as that day.”

Lily visibly tensed. “Not even being a Death Eater?”

He had always known he was a man built to fall – that he wouldn’t be handed anything, like Potter. And after all the sorrows Severus had seen, in the few, measly months he’d been a Death Eater, they’d led him to believe that it wasn’t just him, but that _everything_ was in chaos. Lily had kept him grounded, and still, in that pathetic way, he lived on her scraps of memories she’d left behind in her wake. Severus didn’t regret becoming a Death Eater, no, but he did not treasure or hold his position in esteem either. Nothing mattered, no matter how hard Severus tried to fill that void.

“I became a Death Eater,” Severus rasped. “because I was nothing after you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I’ll let your imaginations take over what happened from here on out.
> 
> I realize this is a… controversial chapter, in many respects. I really battled with myself over putting it here, but please remember that everyone is open to how they interpret this. I think it was important to show what happened to create this AU. After all, if you’re here this far, Ariel wouldn’t be here without this meeting. Obviously, Snape remembers none of it until now, but it’s nice to have a break from the ensuing storm of Snape Having to Feel Things.
> 
> Also — I know that this is Lily’s memory, and we got some Severus POV, but I took some creative liberty. It’s a flashback, it’s all the same, anyway.
> 
> And for everyone asking, yes, this is one of the memories in the vial Dumbledore took from Lily’s trunk. The lil monologue Lily gave is a quote from Tahereh Mafi.
> 
> Reviews are loved and cherished and greatly appreciated x


	10. the veil opens

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter, Dumbledore shared one of two memories Lily wished for Severus to watch. After seeing what had been lost all these years, both he and Ariel have to deal with the aftermath, which have yielded very different results. Ariel is full of regret, and Severus is full of... well, he's not so sure yet.

Ariel lay in her bed the next morning, uncertain of how she’d gotten there.

There was an ache in her jaw that resembled the one in her heart. Her thoughts were muddled, but she could remember the edges of a dream so real, it felt like a tangible memory. A dream of a woman standing in front of a mirror, staring into it like there was another world on the other side —

Something loud clattered to the floor, jolting Ariel fully awake. _“Owww,_ Parvati!”

“Sorry! I know it’s in here somewhere, Mummy packed it for me…”

Ariel shot up, rubbing the sleep from her eyes as she surveyed the room, trying to pinpoint what had so rudely awoken her. Unsurprisingly, it was Lavender and Parvarti rummaging through their trunks. It was Saturday, but that didn’t stop them from waking up early to do their hair. They’d learned a new curling technique with their wands, and while Lavender’s hair was already curly, she’d taken to trying to make hers look more like Parvati’s — longer and bouncier instead of tiny little ringlets. Ariel couldn’t understand for the life of her why they’d want to change their hair when it already looked so beautiful. She would have killed to have hair like them.

She turned her gaze to the edge of the bed, where Hermione lay, who was also sleepily trying to figure out what all the noise was about. Last night felt like a hurricane of thoughts, blurs of sentences and faces, but Ariel did remember trying to strangle out everything to Hermione. She’d realized about halfway through that she wasn’t making much sense, and then, she’d cried out of sheer frustration, and then must’ve fallen asleep.

Ariel threw the covers off as Hermione’s head turned sharply towards her. Their eyes met for a second, Hermione’s already full of worry and questions, but instead of saying something to reassure her, Ariel grabbed the letter from underneath the mattress, and marched towards her trunk to change. She’d fallen asleep in her clothes from yesterday, which was an impossibly icky feeling.

Lavender and Parvati looked up from their morning routine, their faces quickly smoothing over at Ariel’s emergence. Lavender still hadn’t forgiven Ariel (who still hadn’t apologized) and Parvati would stand by her until she got one, just like Hermione would do for Ariel.

It was when the cold silence didn’t last that Ariel realized she probably looked as bad as she felt.

“Oh my,” Lavender gasped, looking her up and down. “what _happened_ to your _eyes?”_

She didn’t know what it was — usually the other girls’ comments about her appearance didn’t bother her — but Ariel wasn’t having it this morning.

“A horrible, deadly curse.” Ariel snapped back. “It’s highly contagious.”

Both their jaws dropped to the floor in shock. Ariel stormed into the loo before Parvarti could interject with something that would sound like mediation. Lavender was still mad at her, and while Ariel knew that this was only going to be a third nail in her coffin, she couldn’t find it in herself to care much. She saw what they were talking about after looking in the mirror — her eyes had dark circles, and the whites of her eyes were bloodshot, probably from all the crying.

_then why not keep it to yourself_

_she was mistaken_

Ariel wished the darkness that had chased her would come back and swallow her whole. If she’d known how badly Snape was going to react, she never would have even considered telling him the truth. She remembered the look on Snape’s face when he’d read Mum’s Charm, and the primal instinct that had overcome her to stop him from doing whatever he was about to do.

The Something in Snape’s eyes had stared back at her for the first time, naked and cruel, and Ariel had known that The Something was pure, unadulterated terror.

Fear made people do awful things. Ariel knew firsthand, from the Dursleys.

The door to the loo opened as Ariel began splashing cold water on her face. Hermione stood beside it, biting her lip as if she didn’t know what to say. She wrung her hands in her nightgown, nervously looking around the bathroom, like the tile was whispering secrets to her. Behind her, Ariel could hear harsh whispers of _“she didn’t mean that”_ and _“I don’t know what’s gotten into her.”_

“Is it really that bad?” Ariel muttered. “I feel like I got run over by a herd of hippogriffs.”

“No,” Hermione shook her head, but Ariel could tell she was lying. “it doesn’t matter, anyway. You had a long night.”

Ariel snorted, wincing as she took in her hair. It looked like a deformed rose bush, ornery and twisted around her head like some sort of demented crown. She really, _really_ needed a shower.

“Don’t mind her.” Hermione pleaded, a scowl pinching her face together. “Lavender can be such a — a _cow.”_

“I’m not,” Ariel shot back. “I don’t care what she thinks.”

_(she did)_

“Good.” Hermione nodded in approval, looking relieved. “I don’t think she realizes what she’s saying half the time.”

Ariel shrugged, pretending not to care. Up until this point, there was only one person who’s approval had mattered, but it had gone down the toilet after last night. Ariel wanted to smash her head against the mirror.

“Are you okay?” Hermione asked softly, placing a hesitant hand on her shoulder. Her brown eyes searched Ariel’s, but she could tell that Hermione was having trouble reading her. She wasn’t a book, after all. Words were unreliable, too, the same way people were. She remembered Snape’s face in the torchlight, twisted and haggard, his voice so deep that it didn’t have a bottom —

“I think I’ve made a mistake.” Ariel whispered, swallowing the rock in her throat. It gripped at her like an electrical current. “I should never have said anything to him. I don’t know what Mum was thinking.”

Hermione was silent for half a beat. “Was it… I mean, you were in a right state last night, but was it really that bad?”

_you want what the rest of us have_

_lost something insurmountable_

_your mother stopped speaking to me after fifth year_

Snape’s reaction had felt a lot like betrayal, but Ariel wouldn’t really know, because she’d never had her trust broken before. There had never been anyone _to_ trust, before Hogwarts. The Dursleys had never trusted her with anything more than the cleaning and cooking, and even then, Ariel had always been _heavily_ scrutinized and critiqued on how well she’d done them. Aunt Petunia was constantly convinced that Ariel was going to mess up on purpose to make their lives miserable, as if Ariel’s existence didn’t already. All of the other adults in Ariel’s life had been teachers, but Aunt Petunia had warned them so much about her that they were wary of her even before she’d met them. Dumbledore had been the first adult to show her real kindness, besides Snape, but he only pretended to care because of her mum.

The thought made her feel very small when it shouldn’t have. Ariel didn’t blame Snape, but the rejection stung a lot more than she’d anticipated, if she’d bothered to anticipate it in the first place. She felt so bloody _stupid_ for not realizing that Snape wouldn’t want anything to do with her, even if he was her biological father. A leopard couldn’t change it’s spots. Snape was a git, and he was always going to be a git.

 _Have some fire,_ Mum had said. She’d never mentioned what to do if Ariel got burned.

“Yeah,” Ariel said dully. “it was.”

Hermione looked like she’d bitten into a rotten lemon. _“How_ bad?”

She turned away from the sink, wondering if she should tell Hermione the truth, or downplay it. It wasn’t going to change what had happened, but Ariel couldn’t help but feel ashamed. What did it say about her that her only living parent wanted nothing to do with her? Snape had been _horrified._

“I don’t think he believed me.” Ariel decided on — it wasn’t a _total_ lie. She wasn’t sure if Snape was in total denial, or if he was saying it to discourage her. Either way, it had worked.

Hermione’s eyes narrowed. “Why _not?_ Did he read the letter? I mean, I know he couldn’t, but…” 

“No,” Ariel pushed past her to the toilets. Her bladder was screaming for relief. “he didn’t want to try and help, but I think he knew how to break Mum’s Charm.”

She could practically feel the confusion radiating off of Hermione, even from the toilet. “Your mum wouldn’t have said anything if —”

“Being an adult doesn’t always mean you’re _right,_ Hermione.”

They were both silent for a long time. Even after Ariel emerged to wash her hands, Hermione just stood there, deep in thought. Ariel took the silence to try and do something about her eyes — maybe Madam Pomfrey could give her something for the redness? Going to the Hospital Wing also meant leaving Gryffindor Tower, though, and Ariel really didn’t have any intention of leaving it ever again. She was _certainly_ done with Potions… maybe if she confided in Professor McGonagall she’d let her drop? No, probably not, but Snape had always blatantly ignored her in class. Ariel could drop Potions after fifth year, couldn’t she? She’d just fail out and take something else — yes, _that_ was a good plan —

“What’re you going to do?” Hermione interrupted Ariel’s inner ramblings. “Not that you have to _do_ anything.”

Ariel considered this. She had decided that it was probably in her best interest to pass away after last night, being most mortified and angry, hurt and dejected. It filled the void in her heart with something so cold that it burned. She didn’t want to feel that way for another second, but she also knew that it was bound to stick around the longer she dwelled on it. For a split second, Ariel considered asking Hermione if they could learn Obliviation, but she was no coward like Snape. She wouldn’t forget, no matter how much she wanted to.

And the only alternative to forgetting was to destroy.

“I’m going to burn the letter.”

Hermione blinked at her in shock.

“With fire.” Ariel added, unsure if she wasn’t specific enough.

Hermione sighed, a quick and nervous sound. “You shouldn’t let whatever Professor Snape said take this away from you. I know how much that letter meant. If you destroy it, even if it’s to get rid of the bad parts, you’ll lose the good ones, too.”

Ariel thought about this while she ran her fingers through her hair, trying to untangle some of the knots that had formed. She wondered how there could be so many with so little hair. Even then, they didn’t compare to the knot twisting her stomach. She saw what Hermione was trying to say, that the letter was a piece of Mum that she’d never get back if she did this, but Mum had been gone for a long time, and you couldn’t lose what you never had. Snape had told her that last night, and it was the first time an adult had ever been truly honest with her. She was going to take that advice. Besides, Ariel couldn’t get back her mum’s words — the good _and_ the bad — even if she wanted to. Without the counter-Charm, it was just a piece of parchment.

Ariel quickly ran through a list of places that she could probably do this without fear of someone seeing her. She couldn’t do it in the Gryffindor common room — Fred and George probably had the fireplaces all Charmed to resurrect anything that was thrown into it for their own personal gain, or something mental like that. They’d boobytrapped the entire thing practically, and Ariel only knew this because they’d warned her after she’d been Sorted. Ron had stepped on the wrong stone tile their second night at Hogwarts, and the entire left side of his body had turned hot pink. The twins had thought it was hilarious, but Ron had been ready to throw _them_ into a fireplace.

She couldn’t just rip it up and throw it into a rubbish bin, either. What if someone went through it and put all the pieces together with magic? Even if her mum had Charmed it to be unreadable, Ariel couldn’t risk it ever falling into the wrong hands. No — she had to burn it, and there was only one person, besides Ron and Hermione, she could think of that she trusted with this.

“I’ll take it to Hagrid’s.” Ariel said. “I won’t tell him what’s in it, but he’ll keep it a secret. He won’t tell anyone I’ve been there.” 

* * *

“Severus…”

_CRASH_

“Severus… well, I never was too fond of that frame anyway…”

“The sheer _stupidity —”_

_CRACK_

“Ah, yes, _that_ plant was on its last legs…”

“Of all the _foolish —”_

Severus went for the vase that sat opposite Dumbledore’s desk, this time. It splintered open down the side as Severus trained his wand on it, willing it to cave in until it did so. The shards crumbled to the floor in waves, but seconds later, Dumbledore had already vanished the mess.

“Your redecoratering skills are impeccable, Severus.” said Dumbledore, who sat unphased behind his desk. Fawkes was growing distressed, flapping his wings anxious, as if he wanted to take off, but was afraid of leaving Dumbledore alone with Severus.

His world blurred around the edges, tinged with red as his stomach churned and mind howled. He needed to get out of this fucking room and be alone, but Dumbledore was keeping him here until he knew Severus wouldn’t do anything self-destructive. It fueled Severus’ rage the more he thought about it, how he wanted to raze the castle to the fucking ground, how he wanted to isolate himself in the dungeons until he wasted away into a hollow husk.

“Let me _OUT!”_ Severus bellowed. He searched around wildly for his next target, some semblance of sanity keeping him away from the more valuable items, but his patience was quickly burning down to the wick. The thing in his chest that was the remnants of his heart pulled in the opposite direction. He wanted to reach inside himself and grind it into powder, to silence it once and for all.

Dumbledore stared back at him, unfazed. “I’m afraid I cannot do that until you —”

Severus had already broken the Pensive — that was the first thing he’d gone after. He scanned the room for something to destroy that wouldn’t land him in Azkaban. The portraits were all staring down at him disapprovingly, avoiding his glares while muttering to each other. Severus settled on the tea set made of china towards the front of the room. It exploded into dust, sparkling in the air like snow.

“That was a gift from the italian Minister of Magic.” Dumbledore sighed. “I had hoped to save it for a special occasion — Minerva’s been eyeing in for some time as well.”

Severus glared at him murderously. “You lied to me for _months —”_

“I did no such thing,” Dumbledore said gently. “I only had suspicions, my boy, and if I had revealed them to you under no burden of proof —”

“YOU HAD THE MEMORY!” Severus roared. Another _CRACK_ rang through the office as the china cabinet that housed the tea set exploded. Fawkes began to screech, flapping his wings manically.

“Would you have reacted any differently?” Dumbledore finally sounded tired, leaning back in his seat, behind the safety of his desk. “The truth can oftentimes strip us of our emotional strongholds, no matter how steadfast their foundations are. There was nothing I could have done to prepare you for this — Lily did what she could.”

He loathed how disarming Dumbledore’s words were, how the very mention of Lily was enough to make his heart stutter in time. _“Lily_ had no idea what was going to happen! She couldn’t have known that the Killing Curse would have rebounded and spared the girl!”

“No, she couldn’t have.” Dumbledore admitted. “But she also knew that there was a very good chance that she and James would not survive the war, especially once they’d gone into hiding. Lily trusted you to look after Ariel, if she no longer could.”

Severus couldn’t help it — he flinched. He usually didn’t feel anything until it hurt, but now, he was feeling more than he had in almost a decade. Anger tore at him as he struggled to pick one singular piece of this mania to focus on, to dismantle with his Shields and shove back down into his box that lay strewn back his consciousness, but it was impossible. There was simply too much. Severus wanted to be Obliviated again, after watching Lily’s memory, knowing that there was so much more he _still_ couldn’t recall, but he’d known why he’d done it. He wouldn’t have been able to live with the memory of what could have been — Lily had been right to reject him, and Severus had foolishly insisted on tearing himself from her completely. He should have known he’d never be able to rid himself of her.

In the end, Severus had been both their undoings.

He fell into the chair adjacent to Dumbledore. Severus was terrified, the same kind of fear he’d felt when the Dark Lord had declared the Potter and Lily and their baby his prime target against the Prophecy. He’d unknowingly spawned this _girl_ — the child — into being, putting her at risk the second she’d been conceived, setting the Dark Lord sights not only on her mother, but on a child that was his very own. If Lily had known what he’d done — what he’d _really_ done, besides taking the Dark Mark — she would have killed him with her bare hands. Not to mention _Potter —_

Potter had loved Lily, as much as Severus loathed to admit it. He’d loved her for a long time, and if Lily needed him, he would have done anything for her, the same way Lily would have done anything to protect her child.

Just as Severus had.

He couldn’t be _this,_ though — he couldn’t be anyone's _father._ The thought was… almost laughable, if it weren’t the stone-cold truth. It stared him right in the face, with eyes like Dumbledore’s, and a face like Lily’s daughter, both direct and aching.

“Lily trusted the wrong people.” Severus said flatly. “Just as I have wrongly trusted you.”

Dumbledore bowed his head. “Ariel has shown great courage in revealing this to you. That bravery cannot be overlooked, or overshadowed. I knew she would come to you in time, of her own accord — it was never my intention to deliberately deceive you.”

Severus closed her eyes, the girl’s face taunting him. Lily had never looked at him the way the girl had. She never would have lowered herself to do so — she had thrived on the emotions of everyone around her, but her daughter was like a nuclear blast, leveling not only everyone around her, but herself as well.

 _“You’re brave for arguing with me, Sev.”_ Lily used to say to him.

 _Their_ daughter.

The thought caused Severus’ stomach to churn nauseatingly. Having children of his own was a reprehensible thought. Even if they’d been with Lily, procreating during the height of a war would have been the last thing on his mind. After all, his own father had been a human shitstain. He was hardly a reliable role model, maybe even less so. His father hadn’t been a murderer.

The girl had Lily-face and Lily-hair, but his eyes. Dumbledore often said that eyes were the windows to the soul — what did that say about the girl?

Severus swallowed roughly. “If the Dark Lord were to find out… that _I_ was related to her…”

Dumbledore’s serene mask finally turned into something akin to troubled. “He would use her against you.” he finished.

“Against me… to use against you.”

The Dark Lord would tear that girl inside out. He would use her and then discard her, like he did with most Death Eater children. Like he'd done with Regulus.

Like he'd done with all of them.

“I have always wondered if Ariel’s resemblance to her mother would give Tom cause to doubt you.” Dumbledore said, almost thoughtfully. “You’ve assured me that he would not be able to understand the resentment you harbor, but I would agree in saying it’s imperative that he cannot know about her true parentage.”

Severus buried his face in his hands, massaging his temple forcefully. “This must be… _dealt_ with.”

Dumbledore tilted his head. “What did you have in mind?”

_obliviate the girl leave the school move to Siberia_

“She cannot be allowed to continue with this… childish dream.” Severus said after a long pause. “My duties simply won’t allow it… it’s far too much of a risk, Albus. Surely you must see that.”

Fawkes had finally begun to settle, keeping one eye trained on Severus warily as had hopped onto Dumbledore’s shoulder, perching himself like a vulture. It would have looked rather menacing if Dumbledore hadn’t reached up to scratch under Fawkes’ chin — the phoenix immediately relaxed and began to nuzzle him, cooing softly. Dumbledore, however, looked more troubled than ever.

“The heart is hard to translate,” he said. “it has a language of its own.”

 _“Don’t,”_ Severus snarled.

“It’s proclamations are often misunderstood, and that makes it dangerous.” Dumbledore continued, as though he hadn’t heard him. “Do you think Ariel came to you because Lily wanted her to, or of her own volition? Both required courage, I would imagine, for a girl her age, and after all she has been through. There is no greater bravery than overcoming fear of the unknown.”

Severus closed his eyes, the carvings underneath the stairs in Petunia’s house filling his mind’s eye. He remembered the girl telling them she’d jumped out of a window for a glimpse into a world she’d never known existed, of how she’d taken his arm and gazed up at the castle in childish wonderment, and how his heart had shifted uncomfortably — how he’d envied her.

“Don’t you see what she is, Severus?” Dumbledore asked.

He looked up. “She is the last of Lily. I will protect her with my life, it needs require it, but _this_ is—”

“Lily left you this gift.” he said softly. “Do not let it go to waste, my boy.”

The glass in the windows exploded, and Dumbledore closed his eyes. Severus threw himself out of the chair, red everywhere, in the walls and the ceiling and the tips of his fingers. He felt as though he were a short time away from sleep, waiting for some epiphany that was just out of his grasp.

“You think this is a _gift?”_ Severus managed to strangle out. “After all you have _seen,_ after what I did to her and her mother and fucking _Potter?_ That girl would have been better off thinking me dead — or worse. What if I had been in Azkaban? Would you think it was a _gift_ then, Headmaster? Or would you have seen to it that the girl never read that damn letter in the first place?”

“Even if you had not heard the Prophecy yourself, you would have come to me once you knew Lily’s daughter was his intended target.”

“Which was _only_ revealed to me because I was the one who had _told him!”_

“You will not be punished for your anger, Severus.” Dumbledore said resignedly. “You will be punished by it. You did not evade Azkaban by the skin of your teeth, but by the broadness of your courage. ”

“For fuck’s _sake —”_ Severus fell back into his chair, his breathing irregular and ragged. He felt like he was going to have a heart attack, but he’d never be so lucky. Fate had never been on his side, with that.

Dumbledore stayed silent, Fawkes quietly cooing while the shards of glass flew back into the window frames. Severus thought of the girl’s face in the candlelight in his office, how he’d thought she would break something, of how it might’ve been him, or even herself. For the first time since Severus had met the girl, she had not looked like Lily, but someone else. It had been like gazing into a mirror.

“She is a foolish thing indeed.” Severus said, mostly to himself.

“No, she’s not.” Dumbledore said calmly. “More importantly, my boy, she is yours.”

Severus almost laughed. He thought of Lily laughing at him, of how she’d howl if she knew that he was responsible for hundreds of children, that he taught them for a living. The thought of sharing a child with Lily was not laughable, though. It was something else — it was someone else’s joke, a cruel twist of Fate that he killed Lily, that he’d set the Dark Lord’s sights and murderous vendetta on his own child.

And that thought terrified Severus most of all.

* * *

Ariel left Hermione to get ready for the day while she went to go and see Hagrid by herself. She’d gone while Hermione went into the shower, and Parvarti and Lavender hissed under their breath about Ariel’s inherent rudeness. She caught the end of a conversation where Lavender asked if she’d done something to make her hate her, and it had made Ariel feel twice as terrible as she had before.

Hermione had been oddly quiet after their conversation, in an unapproved sort of way that had made Ariel feel uncomfortable. She wondered if being someone’s best friend meant you always had to agree with them, but decided against that thought as she got dressed. Friends disagreed on all sorts of things. Living with the Weasleys had taught her that. They bickered about all sorts of things — _everything_ — but that didn’t mean they didn’t love each other. Hermione couldn’t understand this part, the fear between the layers, though, because Hermione had two loving parents. Both of Ariel’s were dead, and the third hated her. She couldn’t fault Hermione for that… but maybe Hermione could. Deep down, Ariel feared that more than anything else.

The corridors felt different this morning — there was no place for the darkness that had chased her last night. Ariel made a mental note to tell Hermione and Ron about it later while they figured out what to do next with the Stone.

The light filtered in through the stained glass windows, not quite churchlike, but enough to make Ariel stop and stare for a moment. The figures inside bustled about, a knight jousting another in the arrow-head window beside him. They missed one another, the princess watching from above shaking her head as she rolled her eyes in boredom. Ariel rolled her eyes at them, reminded of Fred and George while Ginny watched them playing Quidditch. She would’ve given anything to go back to that time, to start Hogwarts all over again. Maybe if she’d been Sorted into Slytherin like the Hat had wanted, Snape might’ve liked her just a smidge more. Maybe just a smidge would have been enough.

Ariel stared down at the parchment in her hands, wondering if her Mum had been wrong about anything else.

And then something bloomed at the end of the hallway.

For a split second, Ariel thought it was the darkness, back to grab her when she was all alone. Her breath caught in her throat as she fumbled for her wand, shoving the letter in her back pocket as she skittered backwards, but she quickly realized that she was mistaken. It wasn’t the darkness, sucking the light from outside until it was all gone — it was the exact opposite.

It was a doe, radiating light that shone like the sun beneath waves, it’s warmth filtering through her fingertips and toes. A doe made of stars and mist, staring right at her.

Ariel froze, not wanting to startle it, but also wanting to get closer. She quickly looked around, assessing her surroundings to see if there was anyone else nearby. There wasn’t, which wasn’t at all that surprising, given the early hour and the fact that it was Saturday, but it was all the more puzzling. This didn’t look like a _real_ doe, but it had to be, because it was moving, it’s ears flicking back as it calmly watched her.

Ariel twitched her nose at it, and it twitched right back. It trotted towards her, then, closing the gaps between them with a few final bounds and leaps. It stared at her, as if it was about to speak its mind, but all it did was bow its head forward, searching for something that Ariel gladly gave it.

 _“Hi,”_ Ariel breathed, reaching out her hand. The doe nuzzled her palm before nudging her chin with its snout. She giggled, about to scratch behind its ears when it bounded away from her, back to the other end of the corridor.

“Hey — wait!” Ariel called after it, but at the sound of her voice again, the doe disappeared around the corner.

Ariel charged after it, her heartbeat thrumming behind her eyes. The warmth left a trail behind it, like footprints in sand on a beach — while each bound ahead of her, the doe’s starry comfort faded, but Ariel was determined to catch it and hold it in her hands. The portraits lining the hallways gasped as the doe leapt passed, Ariel close behind.

They reached the alcove where Ariel had first read the letter when the doe stopped. Ariel screeched to a halt as well, holding her stomach to soothe the stitch in her side.

“It’s a little early for a run, you know.” she panted. “I’ve had a long night — not that you’d know.”

The doe shook its head at her, and then began to fade back into the morning light. Ariel could feel the warmth leaving, like it’s absence was carving out a piece of her. She reached a hand towards the doe, unsure of what she was trying to do herself, but it was too late — it was gone.

Something else moved behind her. Ariel turned, thinking it was the doe again, or some other animal, perhaps, but it wasn’t.

It was Snape, his silhouette an outline in the morning shadows. Ariel’s heart leaped up into her throat, beating like a timpani. He looked like the thing that had chased after her in the darkness, gaunt and skeletal, the sun’s rays harsh against his sallow skin. There were deep bruises under his eyes, like he hadn’t slept in a millenia.

Ariel mustered together what she hoped was a terrible glare, and rounded on her heel. She hadn’t taken two steps before she felt Snape jerked her arm back, whirling her around. Ariel let out a startled cry, tugging on her arm to break free, when Snape gave her another shake and raised a finger to his lips. She stopped at that, because usually this was the point when Snape said something both condescending and infuriating, but his eyes were dark and intense, staring at something behind her.

After a minute of this, Snape began hauling her off, up the winding staircase and past the alcove where the doe had been. Ariel wanted to ask him about it but clamped her mouth shut and tried to think of how to get away. She thought about biting him, but decided against it. She’d bit Uncle Vernon, once, and it had not ended well. Ariel could only imagine what Snape would do to her.

“I haven’t done anything wrong!” Ariel whispered hotly as Snape pushed forward with her in tow, but he ignored her, dragging her up a staircase she’d never seen before. Sometimes, Ariel forgot just how big the castle really was, but she didn’t feel much like exploring now. The higher up they got, the farther away Hagrid became, which was going to take a lot longer than Ariel wanted. She was secretly afraid she’d lose her nerve if she didn’t burn Mum’s letter, and soon.

They stopped at the very top of some stairs, the ceiling so low that if Snape wasn’t bent over, he would’ve hit his head on one of the wooden beams. Cobwebs hung abundantly from the corners, the floor coated in dust. There were no doors, no windows, no more staircases to climb. Snape let her go as he raised his wand at the rightmost wall, and Ariel didn’t take two steps back down the stairs before Snape’s hand clamped around her arm again.

He gave her a murderous look, the hollows beneath his eyes burning a hole between hers. Ariel tried to match it, but Snape was already waving his wand at the wall again, the stones moving, stacking themselves to the side in an orderly fashion, like Snape was their general and they his loyal soldiers. 

They parted to reveal the sky, and that Ariel and Snape were very, _very_ high up. The trees looked like sticks from this height, but the sun was brilliantly orange, glowing proudly above the treeline. Even the lake looked like a puddle. She couldn’t even find Hagrid’s hut.

Snape jerked his head at her, pushing her ahead of him. _“Out.”_

Ariel opened and closed her mouth, because if she stepped forward, she’d fall stories upon stories to her death. There was nothing there — it was just air and light and clouds. Her stomach felt like it had already made the perilous jump.

 _“What?”_ she squeaked.

He gave an exasperated sigh, brushing past her. Before Ariel could bolt, Snape was climbing past the parted bricks, but instead of falling straight through, his foot landed on something solid… except there was nothing solid _there._ He was floating midair, like the open space between his boots and the ground hundreds of feet below him was as stable as the ground Ariel stood on herself. She gaped at him, a million questions on her lips, but before she could say anything, Snape picked her clean off the ground and put her down beside him.

As soon as he let go, the setting changed. Instead of floating midair like a ghost, hundreds — probably thousands — of feet in the air, they were suddenly inside a room. It was made of wood on all sides, a door where the parted stones had once been. There was a table in the corner with a bouquet of red tulips in a white case, and a chair missing one of it’s legs. It looked sad and unused, like it hadn’t had an occupant in years.

“What… what is this?” Ariel said, a little out of breath. “There was nothing _here.”_

 _“Magic.”_ Snape said flatly. “The school is not without it’s more private spaces if one need to have a… _chat”_

“You couldn’t have _told_ me that?” she grumbled, trying to hide her relief. “I thought you were about to off me.”

He gave her an unreadable look. “Do you have the letter?”

Ariel crossed her arms and squared her jaw. “No.”

“Yes, you do.” Snape snapped back immediately.

“No, I _don’t.”_

“You’ve been carrying around the bloody thing since you read it.”

“No, I haven’t!”

“Yes, you _have._ Give it to me.”

“No.”

_“Yes.”_

_“No!”_

“Miss Evans, I am going to count to three.” Snape said in a dangerous voice, one that had at least three threats hidden in-between the consonants. “If you don’t hand me that letter, I am going to march you straight to the Headmaster’s office.”

“Good.” Ariel looked him straight in the eye. “You do that.”

His hands flexed at his sides. If Ariel wasn’t so furious, she might’ve actually been frightened. _“One —”_

Ariel steadied her feet, readying herself to bolt.

_“Two —”_

Her jaw clicked.

_“Three.”_

Ariel turned —

— but she didn’t move. She _couldn’t._ Her feet stayed put, her left behind her right, ready to sprint back into the castle and up to Gryffindor Tower. Panicked, Ariel swung her torso around, trying to see whatever was pinning her feet to the floor, but caught sight of Snape’s face, bored and annoyed.

“What did you do?” Ariel pointed an accusing finger at him.

“You are disappointingly predictable.” Snape rolled his eyes, reaching a hand forward, crooking his finger at her. “Hand it over.”

“I said what I said!” Ariel tugged on her legs, trying to peel them off the stones by force. “And you _cheated.”_

“I did no such thing.” Snape rolled his eyes. “I — _the teacher —_ am ordering you — _a student_ — to hand over a document that has caused nothing but trouble. I knew you would try and flee, so I placed a Sticking Charm on your person.”

“I _told_ you I don’t —”

Snape grabbed her arm again, leaning down until he was practically nose to nose with her. His eyes were black pitts, fathomless and empty, but something at the very bottom sparkled back at her, like the doe. The Something — the fear — was gone, like it had never been there. Ariel had gotten used to staring at it until then. Now, there was something else — it was the light at the very bottom of his black eyes.

“I was going to burn it!” Ariel said, dodging him. “Alright? I’m getting rid of it!”

Snape straightened up and stared down at her, his expression unreadable. “And _why,_ pray tell, would you do that?”

Ariel gaped incredulously at him, her heart slamming against her sternum. She turned away from him, blinking back the tears threatening to spill over and biting her tongue to distract her, focusing on that pain instead of the one in her chest.

“Let me go.” Ariel mumbled, wiping her eyes on her sleeve. “It’ll be gone for good, I promise.”

Snape raised an eyebrow. “If you were going to burn it, then what does it matter what I do with it?”

Ariel glowered up at him doubtfully. “You said it’s a fake.”

“All the more reason to hand it over.”

“It’s _my_ letter.” Ariel countered.

Snape’s lip curled. “This game is rapidly decreasing in it’s cuteness. _Accio_ letter!”

It flew out of her back pocket and into his waiting hand. Ariel let out an angry cry, trying to snatch it back, but even if Snape was within her reach, he was a great deal taller than she was. She balled her fists at her sides, blinking back angry tears as Snape unfolded the letter.

“Who do we call at the edge of night?” he said.

Ariel’s breath caught in her throat as she watched the words come flooding back onto the parchment — she could see it through the other side, hungrily wishing she were the one holding it so that she could see it all again first. She knew Snape had stopped reading when his eyes stopped moving. They didn’t go glassy, but rather empty, like Snape had disappeared inside himself. It was almost like when a store closed for a long weekend, the closed sign hanging in the window. The hand holding the letter shook, though, the parchment fluttering as though there were a slight breeze.

The silence filled the space, ballooning until it felt difficult to breathe. Maybe it was the stuffiness of the room, that it hadn’t been touched in months, years even, but Ariel was contemplating saying something until Snape held out his hand. He did not look at her until Ariel shakily took it from him, and when he did, his eyes were a decade away.

She cocked her head up at him. “What does it mean — the counter-Charm?”

Snape blinked down at her, like he’d forgotten she was there. “I have no idea, it was from a poem your mother fancied. She used to recite it when she thought I’d gone too long without being teased relentlessly.”

Ariel tried to picture Snape being _teased,_ and it had the same outcome that biting him would have had, in her head. She stared down at Mum’s familiar handwriting, the wobbly letters at the very top of the parchment creating a sort of kinship in her heart.

“Do you believe me now?” she asked in a small voice, not daring to look up at him while she spoke.

There was another long, painful pause, and Ariel forced herself to peek up at Snape. He still had that faraway look in his eyes, his face smooth and blank, but his gaze was locked on the letter. “There is no room for doubt, after seeing it myself.”

Ariel wished he spoke like a normal person now more than ever, but she just nodded, not knowing what else to do, then. “Well… thank you. You didn’t have to do that.”

Snape just looked at her, like he didn’t know what he was looking at. Ariel didn’t blame her — she didn’t know herself anymore.

“No one can know.” Snape said, in a low, stern voice. “This is to stay between us — it is _imperative_ that this information does not fall into the wrong hands. Am I understood?”

She thought about Hermione, and Ron, and how they had probably been talking about it amongst themselves when she wasn’t there. “Well, I didn’t tell just _anyone_ if that’s what you mean.”

Snape looked enraged for a half a second before he smacked his hand against his forehead. “I forgot Granger was with you.” he muttered, pinching the bridge of her nose. “I suppose that means Weasley knows as well?”

Ariel grimaced. “They’re my best mates, I _had_ to tell them.”

“No, you didn’t.”

 _“Yes,_ I _—”_ She exhaled through her nose and extended the letter to him. “Here, just take it.” Snape recoiled, like Ariel was handing him rotten garbage. Her eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “If it’s such a big deal that no one _else_ knows, then _you_ should have it. I understand why you don’t want anyone to know.”

Snape hesitated before taking it, a quick, sharp motion that Ariel would have missed if she’d blinked.

“Were you actually going to burn it?” he asked in a voice she didn’t know how to decipher. “Or was that simply a flare up of those nauseating Gryffindor dramatics?”

Too tired to argue anymore, Ariel nodded. “I really was. You were going to last night, weren’t you? Is that what you’re going to do now?”

He hesitated — she’d never seen him do that before. “Is that what you want?”

“When has what I’ve wanted ever mattered?” she didn’t mean to say it, but it had slipped out, like sand through your fingers.

Snape said nothing. He waved his hands, and Ariel staggered forward, finally about to move her legs again. She kicked a couple of times for good measure, about to ask Snape how he’d put the Charm on her without her knowing, but he was already making his way out.

He paused in the doorway, like he was going to say something, his head turned towards her, but instead, pivoted and shoved the letter into her hands.

Without another word, Snape jerked the door open and stalked out, leaving Ariel alone.

She didn’t feel alone, though — she felt… oddly relieved.

Upon the table now sat a book, opened about a third of the way through. Ariel could see that it was very old, like the room, the cover worn and yellowed with age. She peered back to the door, wondering if Snape had somehow left it, but there was a note written atop it that was not Snape’s, or Mum’s, or anyone else's she recognized.

_Be patient, my dear, if nothing else._

Below the text in the faded book was writing that _was_ familiar.

_Sev thinks this is worse than the last one, but I think it’s gorgeous. LE._

Ariel sat down in the chair missing a leg, and began to read.

* * *

_in a dark and distant year_

_the wand’rer weary, full of fear_

_confronts a fated force more powerful than life_

_a carriage made of sea_

_has come to take his wife_

_the waves too dark and deep to swim_

_he hears his love cry out to him_

_her piercing anguish rising high above the foam_

_“please don’t let go of me, for you are my home!”_

_from the shore he sees his bride_

_as she fights hard against the tide_

_he swears a sacred vow that every loved one keeps_

_he steels himself,_

_takes one last breath,_

_and leaps_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I apologize for the delay in uploading. The reopening of schools has been stressful, and my sole focus has been on making sure myself and my students get through the next few months. I don’t really know how to describe the level of anxiety and stress teachers are going through, especially our music programs, but it’s really good to be back with my students after so long. I can’t wait until I’m in front of my full orchestra again someday, or sing with my first graders.
> 
> The poem Snape references is actually a song, “Don’t Let Me Go” by an artist I can’t recall at the moment. The poem is taken from the choral pieces, more specifically, the text “One Last Breath” by the amazing Eric Whitacre.
> 
> I would really love and appreciate it if you could leave a review. Thank you all for your kind words in past reviews, I treasure each one. Until next time! xx


	11. sincerity is scary

The next time Ariel spoke to Snape, he was limping.

This was already quite un-Snapely, which was a broad category in Ariel’s head. There were many things that weren’t Snapely, and weakness of any kind was one of them. He looked as though he ate weakness for breakfast.

“Are you sure you want to sit out here?” Ariel asked Hermione, rubbing her hands together as the chilly November air bit at her skin. Mrs Weasley had sent her mittens that were twice the size of her hands, but they were the warmest thing she’d ever owned. Unfortunately, that meant that they kept sliding off.

“It’s not _that_ cold,” Hermione said, but Ariel noticed that she seemed to be hiding a knowing smirk when Ariel looked at her incredulously. She’d brought a glass jar, full of little blue flames that glowed in the air between them, keeping one side of each of them toasty, but the other one still terribly exposed. They’d come outside to the courtyard, which was deserted.

“I’m going to be a human popsicle after ten minutes.” Ariel said, trying to keep her teeth from chattering.

“Honestly, you’re starting to sound like Ron.” Hermione rolled her eyes.

“He’s asked if we want to go to the Quidditch match with him tomorrow, by the way.”

“I thought you hated Quidditch?”

Ariel grimaced. “I don’t _hate_ it. I don’t like flying much, but I think watching a game could be… fun.” She was bloody terrible on a broom — she ended bottom up in some bushes her first flying lesson, and the Slytherins had found this to be so hysterically funny that they acted it out every flying lesson since. Ariel wanted to smash the broomsticks over their heads, maybe even take out Pansy’s eye with the straw.

Hermione beamed. “I’d love to go, as long as you’re up for it.”

It was that last bit that made Ariel’s stomach twist into knots. She knew she’d been putting a damper on things this past week. After she came back from the floating room with Snape, all she could think about was the stupid letter while Ron and Hermione thought it had been destroyed, forever. She _had_ told them about the poem that she’d found, though, but not about her conversation with Snape, that he’d read the letter himself, and that Ariel had watched something inside his eyes break.

She didn’t think it was fair to keep bothering them with it. Besides, they had the Stone to keep an eye on, _especially_ if someone was trying to steal it. When it came to Quidditch, the truth was that Ariel desperately wanted something to take her mind off of everything, and if watching a game of Quidditch was going to do that, then so be it. Maybe Fred or George could knock the Quaffle at the Slytherin stands, if Ariel asked — they’d probably cry happy, proud tears. If Draco and Pansy made any part of this difficult Ariel was going to find a way to feed them to that three-headed dog herself.

Ariel shrugged. “It’s the first match of the season, so we should really go, anyway. I want to see Fred and George play. They talked all summer about how much they missed it.”

Hermione nodded happily, her brown eyes excited. “I’m sure Hagrid will be there, too.”

The thought warmed Ariel’s heart a bit. Having Hagrid there would probably discourage the Slytherins from giving her _too_ much trouble — not that she couldn’t take them, but she’d much rather avoid the detention for smashing in their noses, if she could. They reminded her a lot of Aunt Petunia, in some ways, and she _hated_ Aunt Petunia.

“One of the third years said there’s a permanent Warming Charm beneath the old birth tree.” Hermione said, linking her arm with Ariel’s. “So maybe we’ll finally get _some_ reading done out here.”

Ariel hummed along in agreement, but secretly wished she was still sitting in front of one of the fireplaces up in Gryffindor Tower. She was envious of Ron, who was engaged in a chess battle royal with Seamus that had been going steady for two hours now.

“I heard Pansy say she was using the library with Draco,” Hermione said, her nose wrinkling, like she smelt something bad. “I know it’s cold, but I’d rather freeze out here than have to put up with them.”

Sometimes, Ariel wondered if Hermione was so smart that she could read her mind. That made sense — Ariel had thought to ask why they weren’t using the library, but as usual, Hermione was one step ahead of her. “If I see her face outside of class, I’d find a much better use for those books.”

Hermione smiled, but it was lined with something else — concern. Ever since Ariel had thrown potions ingredients at Draco during Snape’s class, the Slytherins had been relentless with egging her on, trying to get her to lose her cool again and land herself another detention. She’d nearly lost it last week when Pansy had slipped in some lavender into her and Neville’s cauldron on her way up to Snape’s desk, causing it to turn into something moldy and the exact color of Filch’s fingernails.

Snape had given Neville three days of detention for it, which Ariel had tried to contest, but she might as well have been empty air. Snape hadn’t so much as looked at her when she’d told him what the Slytherins had done. Draco and Pansy thought it was hilarious, but Ariel had wanted to disappear into the floorboards, and Hermione and Ron could tell, but it was also obvious that they had no idea what to do about it.

Ariel remembered Ron telling the third year Gryffindors about Ariel launching the moonseed’s at Draco’s face and smiled to herself. He’d spoken about it with such pride, like she had won a major duel or something, and no one had ever talked about her like that. It had felt so good — that memory, the satisfaction that she carried around inside her heart-shaped box. She wondered if she’d listened to the Sorting Hat… if Snape would’ve looked at her differently, if she’d been in Slytherin. She’d been so preoccupied with making sure she stayed with Ron…

“What’d you bring with you?” Hermione asked, tearing Ariel from her inner ramblings.

Ariel held the book tucked under her arm a little tighter. “Just something light… no schoolwork. My brain feels like scrambled eggs after Transfiguration.”

Hermione made a noise of approval. “Poetry again then?”

She grinned sheepishly. “Fred showed me a Translation Charm — this one’s in French, but there wasn’t a whole lot left in the library. You’d think there’d be poetry galore in that place.”

The story about the wanderer had not been something Snape had left, but Ariel also couldn’t pinpoint who’s handwriting it had been inside the book. All of the other pages had been blank. Ariel wanted to ask Snape about it, but he had all but vanished. Snape was absent from meals, the hallways, even detentions, which he was passing on to other professors, according to Fred and George. It was a wonder he was still teaching Potions, because he dismissed them on the dot, and would disappear into his storeroom. He’d stopped giving Ariel back any and all assignments in Potions, which she didn’t mind anymore. She knew she was brewing everything correctly because Neville’s marks weren’t abysmal, and Snape always knocked the Gryffindor’s down a whole letter grade just to be a git. Hermione had taken to raising her hand silently to answer questions (not that Snape ever called on her) but had stopped calling out, which seemed to make Snape hate them all ten times more, when no one knew the answer.

The poem about the wanderer… it felt incomplete, like there was more. She wanted to know what had come prior, or what had happened to him after he’d jumped into the water, though she had a feeling it hadn’t ended well.

“Maybe you’re just not looking in the right places.” Hermione said, but Ariel knew that was a lie. She’d practically dragged Ariel down to the library when she’d mentioned wanting to look for some books, and despite the fact that the library was gigantic, there hadn’t been much poetry to find, even with Hermione interrogating Madam Pince herself. That was the moment when Ariel realized Hermione _had_ to be a Gryffindor. By the time Ariel had dragged Hermione away, apologizing profusely, Madam Pince had looked like some sort of griffon, ready to grab them in her talons and rip them to shreds.

“Maybe,” Ariel said, a little glumly. “I keep thinking if I find the rest —”

“If there _is_ a rest,” Hermione interjected.

“Yeah — _if —_ then I’ll figure out who left it for me, that maybe _they_ know something I don’t, but if Mum only told James, and Snape didn’t know at all, who else could it be?”

Hermione shook her head. “Maybe Professor Snape told someone?”

Ariel almost laughed. “I don’t think so.”

“Maybe he would, you don’t know that.”

_then why not keep it to yourself?_

“I just wish someone would tell me what to do, or what it is they want me to know and not know.” Ariel muttered. “I’m sick and tired of secret notes.”

“It _is_ a pretty big deal,” Hermione admitted. “Being _your_ father, and all.”

Ariel gave her A Look. “What do you mean?”

“Well…” she hesitated. “I mean, to give you an idea, I read all about you in books before I even _met_ you.”

She almost groaned. “It doesn’t even matter, I was a baby! I don’t remember anything!”

“I know, I know,” Hermione gave her shoulder a reassuring pat. “I’m just saying that it’s a strong possibility why it’s… well, why no one wants to talk about it. Maybe secret notes are all we have, for right now.”

Ariel sighed, scanning the courtyard for a spot for them to sit. It was still light out, which made her feel safe. She’d been seeing that infinite darkness in corners, heard it muttering in class, in Defense or in the Great Hall during dinner. No one else seemed to notice it but her, and it was such quick glimpses that Ariel didn’t know what exactly to do with it. It frightened her, but nothing had _happened_ like the night she’d told Snape The Truth, and so she’d waved it away as her imagination. It was only quick little blips, anyway, forgotten until she laid in bed at night, replaying the time she’d first seen it over and over and over —

She was keeping a _lot_ of secrets. Maybe that was why her heart felt so heavy lately… maybe it wasn’t Snape at all. Maybe the secrets weighed you down, took something a little from you each day, chiseled away at you bit by bit.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Hermione asked quietly, as though she were asking permission to ask the question in the first place. “I know we haven’t had much time lately, and now that your mum’s letter is gone… but Ron and I… we want you to know that we won’t stop helping you find out the truth, if that’s what you really want.”

Ariel was going to tell her everything, then — all about the floating room and the doe, the talk with Snape and the darkness made of voices and nightmares, so black the light seemed to get sucked up inside of it.

That was when she spotted him, just as she was seating herself beneath the birth tree, the book in her lap and another Warming Charm on her lips.

Hermione had frozen in place, her demeanor radiating discomfort. She shot a quick look to Ariel, who felt her chest tighten with that all too familiar pang of something that felt like loss.

And then Ariel noticed the limp, and that the fabric of Snape’s right trouser looked like it had gone through a meat grinder.

“Ariel —” Hermione reached out a hand to pull her back, but she was too late, Ariel was already halfway across the courtyard, making a beeline for him.

Snape didn’t seem to see her at first, his face twisted every time he put weight on his bad leg. His hair was matted against his forehead, far greasier than it usually looked, but Ariel wouldn’t have really known since she hadn’t seen much of him. She broke into a jog, which finally seemed to catch Snape’s attention. His face twisted — was that horror? — but before he could pick up the pace, Ariel had already reached out, screeching to a halt in front of him, successfully blocking his path.

“Hello,” Ariel said, pulling her cloak around her tightly. Her heart hammered away in her chest, like a fist against a door, begging to be let out.

Snape stopped to glare down at her, but it was diluted by the tiredness in his face. There were deep, dark circles underneath his eyes that had been there for almost two weeks, since Ariel had told Snape The Truth, and she’d read the poem about the wanderer. She felt tired too, but it was a different kind of exhaustion, one that didn’t match the one in Snape’s face. He looked… haunted.

She pointed at his leg. “You’re hurt.”

“Astute observation, Miss Evans.” Snape drawled, pulling on his cloak so that it was covering his injured leg. “Is that all, or would you also like to note the color of my robes?”

The snark bounced off of her like oil on water. “Are you going to Madam Pomfrey?”

He began to walk away, and Ariel hurried after him, three of her own strides matching one of his. “No, I’ve decided to amputate it myself.”

She huffed, partly in annoyance, and partly out of breath. “You're only going to make it worse the more you walk on it.”

Snape stopped short, and Ariel’s nose came itches away from smashing into his knees. He whirled around, his expression too exhausted to be angry, but his eyes burned a hole right between her eyes. A little voice in the back of Ariel’s head told her she was mental for bothering Snape like this, for being so nosy, but she hadn’t _seen_ him, and she wanted to ask him so much things —

“I didn’t realize we had another certified Healer on staff.” Snape said coolly.

“Any numpty could figure that one out.” Ariel said, quite matter-of-factly. “And I’d know anyway, from experience.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Is that so?”

“Aunt Marge’s dog dragged me down the hallway once.” she said before she could think it over. “I had a brace and everything. Aunt Petunia was furious I couldn’t do any of the yardwork for a month. I tried, but it just made it worse.”

Snape’s face did something strange, almost as if it was being stretched into an unnatural expression that made Ariel’s stomach break into cartwheels. “I see.”

“What happened?” Ariel asked, her face suddenly very hot. “I’m guessing it wasn’t dogs.”

He glared down at her for another long moment, that pinprick of something white hot and unfiltered glowing in his black eyes. She stared right back. Maybe it was the fact that Ariel had successfully taken him off guard, but Snape didn’t scare her anymore. She couldn’t fear rejection when it had already happened, and while the sting of it still lingered, Ariel had come to realize that hoping for _some_ kind of relationship with Snape was about as likely as Filch accepting a present from Fred and George.

“Gravity.” Snape said flatly, and began to walk away again. Ariel hurried after him, huffing as she clutched the book at her chest. He stopped short again, a warning in his eyes — or maybe his leg was starting to really bother him, and Ariel was just getting in the way.

 _Be patient, my dear, if nothing else,_ the note had said.

“Well,” Ariel tucked the book in the crook of her arm. “then you won’t mind if I follow you, then.”

His gaze darkened. “I very much would.”

“What if you fall?” she asked, nonplussed.

“What if I don’t?” Snape snapped back.

“I don’t very much like the odds of that.” Ariel said, trying to match his tone, and failing. Snape spoke to people like you were a slug he’d stepped on, and no matter how hard she tried, Ariel couldn’t summon that much reproach into her voice.

Snape had turned his back to her to try and leave again, but at this, he stopped and sighed, his head hanging low so that his hair and cloak melded together into one black mass. Ariel almost felt bad, but there was this quiet desperation inside of her to get him to talk to her again, even if he was essentially telling her to bugger off. After a moment, he turned to glower at her again, but it had lost some of its potency.

“Books aren’t to be taken from the library.” he said.

Ariel blinked at him. “Since _when?”_

“Since the dawn of time.”

“I think you’re making that up to get rid of me.”

“Very good, Miss Evans.” he said, his breath curling the air like fog. “Hand it over, or I’ll let Madam Pince have her way with you.”

Ariel tried to stifle the shudder that went through her at the thought. “If I wasn’t allowed to take it out, she wouldn’t have let me leave with it!”

“Hand — it — over.” Snape said in a quiet voice, one that conveyed every inch of his warning.

She tried to swallow her anger, which was begging to lash out, to yell at him to stop being some a git and talk to her like a normal person for once — to talk to her at all.

“I’ve been trying to find the rest of that poem,” said Ariel. “from the floating room.”

Snape’s face went blank, like paint dripping off of a canvas. “I beg your pardon?”

“The poem, in the book you left.”

“I did no such —” Snape’s face went the exact color of sour milk, like he’d had a terrible thought come over him. His face instantly twisted into an expression of anger — or maybe it was disgust — but Ariel could tell it wasn’t directed at her for once. He took the books from her waiting hands, and turned on his heel.

“Get inside, you’ll catch your death of a cold out here.” Snape snarled, walking away before Ariel could protest.

She watched him stalk away like an injured predator who was trying to save face. Adults were weird, Ariel decided, waiting until he had disappeared behind the columns before looping back around to follow him. Hermione was waiting for her behind one of the pillars, worry shining from every inch of her face.

“What did he —” Hermione started to say, but Ariel shushed her, pulling her along so that they were both out of sight. She slowly peeked around the stone column, watching as Snape disappeared back inside the castle.

“Come on,” Ariel tugged at her arm. “we’ve got to follow him.”

* * *

They’d gotten all the way up to Filch’s office without being spotted, but instead of feeling smugly victorious, Ariel was terribly confused.

They’d stayed far back, but it had been pretty easy to follow Snape, Ariel realized, once she’d figured out that he _wasn’t_ heading for the infirmary. A small, but noisy voice in the back of her head kept ordering her to go and get Madam Pomfrey herself, but Ariel knew this would mean Sudden and Imminent Death for her, and probably Hermione, too. Besides, Snape was an adult who probably knew loads of healing spells he could do himself. Maybe he didn’t need Madam Pomfrey after all.

The castle seemed… quieter as Hermione and Ariel crept after Snape. She prayed to whatever god was listening that the darkness didn’t choose _now_ to show up, but it was comforting to know that if it did, at least Snape was in earshot —

— with a busted leg.

Ariel shuddered, shoving the thought away from her. She couldn’t afford to think about that now, she had to find out where Snape was going.

He had started to slow down once they passed the Great Hall, rapping on Filch’s door before letting himself in. Ariel couldn’t help but notice that he seemed to hesitate for a split second, looking over his shoulder. Hermione gripped at her hand, her breath the only sound could hear as Snape slid inside silently. He’d gone to Filch because he thought Ariel would go straight to Madam Pomfrey, that _sneaky git —_

“What’s he doing?” Hermione whispered, her fingers knotted in Ariel’s cloak.

“I don’t know,” Ariel replied. She crept closer, but Hermione tugged her back.

“What did he say to you?” her eyes searching Ariel’s, as if she was holding the answer captive.

“He just told me to bugger off and took my book.”

Hermione exhaled, a deep, distressed sound. “And you want to go _after him?”_

“He’s _hurt_ , and I _do_ kinda want my book back.” Ariel started to move again, but Hermione’s hand stayed firmly on her shoulder.

She looked at her, something in her face that made Ariel’s heart quiver. It was like looking down when you were at the very top of a cliff, or a rollercoaster and not knowing what was at the bottom, when the bottom would come, if it would come at all. It made her chest feel like it was filled with cold water, because Ariel knew exactly what Hermione was saying without saying anything at all.

“Stay here,” Ariel said, hating that she let her voice shake. “I’m going to see if I can hear anything.”

She turned away, unable to look at her anymore, unable to let the truth of Hermione’s expression leak into her any longer, but the icy feeling inside her chest began to thaw when she felt Hermione’s hand let go of her cloak, and slip into her hand instead. Ariel squeezed back tightly, sucking in the November air before ordering her legs to move towards Filch’s door. 

Snape hadn’t closed the door all the way, Ariel realized, a crack of light slipping through the thin threshold. She was able to peer inside, Hermione’s still hand around hers, as tight as a vise. Snape’s leg was a bloody and mangled mess, his trousers pulled up so that the injury was in full view. It didn’t look like he'd gone through a meat grinder anymore — more like he’d let a lion gnaw on it for a few minutes. Ariel stared at it, horrified.

Filch said something Ariel couldn’t hear, but Snape shook his head. “She’s meddlesome — she’d ship me off to St Mungo’s, and I’m needed here.”

It took Ariel a second to realize he was probably talking about Madam Pomfrey. Filch handed him a roll of bandages, and Snape bent over as he began to unroll them.

“It was that fucking _dog,”_ Snape snarled. “how the bloody hell are you supposed to keep your eyes on all three heads at once?”

Hermione made a scandalized noise at the swearing. Ariel sucked in a deep breath and all of the courage she could muster, and rapped on the door with her knuckle. “Professor?”

He went completely rigid, only his eyes snapping up to the doorway. They glittered like two black beetles, bulging out of his head.

“Miss _EVANS!”_ Snape boomed. Something inside of Filch’s office went _CRACK._ Hermione let of a squeak of surprise.

“I wanted my book —” Ariel started to say, but Snape looked like he was ready to launch himself out of the chair, had it not been for his leg.

 _“OUT!”_ he bellowed. _“GET OUT!”_

Ariel hesitated, which turned out to be a huge mistake, because Snape actually started trying to get up, and Ariel didn’t want to know what would happen if he made it to the doorway. She pulled Hermione back, the two of them sprinting the entire way back up to Gryffindor Tower.

Once they were safely back inside, Ariel hurried over to Ron, who was still — somehow — in the middle of the same chess match they had left him in. A quick glance at the board told her that not much had really changed, which was unsurprising. Ron could be incredibly indecisive sometimes, and he had Seamus bet a few sickles on this game.

Ariel grabbed Ron by the collar of his shirt and tugged. “We need to talk to you.”

“Oi! I’m kind of in the middle of something right now!” he protested, but Ariel was already dragging him away. Seamus didn’t even seem to notice — he was staring at the board like he’d gotten lost inside of it.

“Don’t touch anything!” Ron shouted, finally falling in step with Ariel and Hermione as they hurried over to an uninhabited part of the Common Room. She clutched at the stitch in her side as she and Hermione fell to the floor, still desperately trying to catch their breath. Her lungs felt like they were on fire.

“The dog — it got Snape.” Hermione wheezed just as Ron opened his mouth. “One of it’s mouths must’ve snagged him.”

Ron’s eyes widened. “What? When? How do you know?”

They quickly filled him in on everything that had happened. Over Ron’s shoulder, Ariel could see the chess pieces floating up in the air. Fred and George stood in the doorway of the boys’ dormitory, looking quite pleased with themselves. Ariel tried to shoot them a disapproving look, but they weren’t looking at her.

Ron furrowed his eyebrows together once they were done. “Why would he need to be checking on the Stone?”

“Because someone is trying to _steal_ it!” Ariel said, a shiver passing through her, and for once, it had nothing to do with the cold. “Something must’ve happened.”

Ron looked skeptical. “Yeah but… if Snape was really hurt, why wouldn’t he use magic to heal himself?”

“I… don’t know.” Ariel said, searching her heart for an excuse, but unable to come up with one. It _was_ a good point. Even if Snape hadn’t gone to the infirmary, why was he using old Muggle bandages for his leg?

Ron gave her a solemn look, his blue eyes lighter than usual, like when you could see the sky behind the stormcloud. “Well… what if _Snape_ is the one trying to steal the Stone?”

“We’ve been over this,” Hermione said, sounding impatient. “Professor Dumbledore wouldn’t have —”

“Then why did the dog attack him?” Ron challenged. “Shouldn’t he know how to get past it to check on the Stone? Wouldn’t Professor Dumbledore have told him?”

Ariel quietly considered this as Ron and Hermione went back and forth. Maybe… maybe she’d been completely off.

An icy fist wrapped around her heart. It wouldn’t have been the first time Mum had been wrong. Maybe, just maybe, there had been a different reason Snape wanted nothing to do with her.

She looked up at Ron and Hermione, who quieted at the expression on her face.

“I have to tell you guys something,” she said.

* * *

The next day, Ariel woke up earlier than the others, intent on settling herself on one of the sofas in the Gryffindor common room, one closest to the fireplace. Her feet felt like icicles, but her head felt surprisingly clear.

Lavender was snoring away as Ariel went inside the girl’s loo, scowling at her hair. It _was_ getting longer, thank Merlin, but it still looked as though it couldn’t decide whether or not it wanted to be wavy or curly. It drove Ariel mad, especially when she was trying very hard to make it look _somewhat_ good, but it was so infuriatingly short that there still wasn’t much Ariel _could_ do. Pavarti had mentioned that there was some sort of potion that could make your hair grow, but Ariel had a feeling she wouldn’t have any of the ingredients, and she didn’t think Snape would be in a very _giving_ mood.

She’d made up with Lavender last week, leaving a plate of biscuits on the bed, along with a note saying that she was sorry and felt horrid, which she was, and did. Lavender had immediately thrown her arms around her and asked if it was “ _that cow Pansy Parkinson causing her to be so moody,_ ” which Ariel was all too eager to agree with.

When she was done trying to do _something_ with her hair, she took out a sheet of parchment and a fresh quill, leaning on her Charms textbook so she could write. Ariel wrote _Snape_ at the very top, and next to that, a giant question mark. Underneath the question mark, she wrote the words _Mum, Dad,_ and then, _Voldemort._

Beneath _Mum_ she wrote _friends with Snape, maybe love?_ and _killing curse._

She tapped the quill against her chin. If Snape and Mum had been friends, and he’d loved her, and she’d maybe loved him back, what had happened? Ariel didn’t know anything about love, but she supposed that if you loved someone a certain way, you did everything you could to stay with that person, didn’t you? There was a difference between being _in love_ and just loving someone, though. Mum had outright stated that she loved James… not that she was _in love_ with him. The word love had never come up with Snape, but Ariel was here because of Snape, not James.

She looked at the _James_ column and wrote _loved Mum, loved me, killing curse._ She didn’t know what else to write, but her throat felt uncomfortably tight. He _had_ to have been _in_ love with Mum, because you didn’t ask to marry someone not once, but _twice_ if you didn’t.

You didn’t love a baby that wasn’t yours either.

Ariel huffed, looking between _Mum_ and _James,_ before finally deciding to tackle _Snape._ She didn’t really know what to put, because while he _had_ confirmed that he was Mum’s friend, and had (sort of?) confirmed that he was her father, Ariel really didn’t know anything else. He hated Aunt Petunia, Dumbledore trusted him, and he hated literally everyone in the school, except maybe the professors and some of the Slytherins, and even that was stretching it. He was mean — a bully in every sense of the word —

He was interested in the Stone.

She wrote six question marks beneath _Snape,_ and then glared at them. Even inside her brain, he was a mystery. He _had_ saved Ariel from the Dursleys, and the cold, high voice that had chased her… but _why?_ What did that _mean?_ He’d saved Mum’s life, too… she’d said so in the letter. Maybe… maybe he’d been angry with Mum for marrying James? Although, if Snape _was_ trying to steal the Stone, then why would he tell her about it in the first place?

Something hard and hot blossomed inside her heart — a feeling, a connection. Mum had felt this same confusion, hadn’t she? Snape had done the same thing to her, only she hadn’t been able to talk to him at all… because Snape had gone and joined something called the _Death Eaters,_ whatever that meant.

That brought Ariel swiftly to the _Voldemort_ column. Mum had talked a lot about him in the letter, what he’d been doing and how scared she was. There was a lot of stuff Ariel still didn’t understand, but it wasn’t like Snape was going to tell her anytime soon, so Ariel figured that she’d sort _that_ out later. Voldemort had killed her Mum and James and unsuccessfully tried to kill Ariel. That was about it.

She glowered down at the parchment, which was becoming increasingly unhelpful.

She couldn’t help but think Voldemort had more to do with this than Mum had let on.

It was the most she’d ever thought about Voldemort, she realized. Sometimes, Ariel forgot that he was the reason her mum and dad were dead. She remembered Hagrid telling her all about what he’d done, not able to understand it all and that the reason it had ended had been… because of _her._

That was… weird. Not as weird as Snape, though. She wondered what Snape would’ve done if Mum had told him from the beginning. There must’ve been _something_ she’d seen in him, something Ariel didn’t.

She wondered what Snape saw in her. Maybe all he saw was her mum, dead because of —

That was when something in Ariel’s brain snapped into place. A horrible, wonderful ache filled her chest, the feeling of trying to swallow a hiccup, or hold back a laugh, or even a cry. Snape couldn’t stand her because —

she… had survived

and Mum had not.

Ariel looked up, her reflection bouncing off the tabletop beside her. She had Snape’s eyes, she’d come to realize, but her mother’s face, freckles and lips and nose and all. Snape probably looked at Ariel and thought _“murderer.”_

No — she quickly shook her head, trying to throw that thought far, far away from her. If Snape really thought that, he wouldn’t have saved her, wouldn’t have cared if Aunt Petunia kept her stuffed underneath a cupboard like a dustpan or not. Snape had to care at least a little bit… or maybe he felt like he had to protect Ariel, for Mum.

Something about that idea made her feel very small, like she was supposed to fit inside some neat, tidy box made for her, never to come out. Ariel crushed the parchment into a ball, and threw it into the fireplace.

She watched it burn, and for a brief moment, wished it was her flaking away, fading to ash.

* * *

The Great Hall was buzzing with talk about the Quidditch match as the trio walked down for breakfast. Most of the older Gryffindors were wearing House colors, their faces streaked with red and gold body paint, flags and streamers laying across the table, mixed in amongst the breakfast food. The air itself seemed to be alive with excitement. Ariel was thankful for it — she wanted to forget, wanted to just enjoy a stupid game of Quidditch and worry about normal-people things.

Draco and the other first year Slytherins were staring at Ariel as they walked in, turning around to snigger when Ariel looked their way. Ron made a rude gesture at them, which Hermione immediately berated him for as they sat down to eat. 

“You’ll get points taken!” Hermione scolded.

“It’s worth it,” Ron waved her off. “Especially today.”

Ariel and Hermione shared a look as they helped themselves to the breakfast spread. Fred and George were huddled together next to them with Oliver Wood, the Gryffindor team’s captain. Whatever they were talking about must’ve been important, because the twins looked pretty serious.

“What time is the game?” Ariel asked, munching on a piece of toast.

“Around eleven, I think.” Ron said, looking across the table at Neville, who was sitting down to join them. “You coming, Longbottom?”

Neville looked startled, like a deer caught in headlights. “M-me? Yeah, I’ll b-be there.”

“Brilliant, you can sit with us, then.” Ron said, grinning. “We’ve got to show our House spirit — this is an important game.”

“Why’s that?” Ariel asked, quirking an eyebrow. “It’s only the first one!”

“Yeah, but it’s against the _Slytherins.”_ Ron made a face. “If we let them win, it’ll set the tone for the entire season! They’ll never let us hear the end of it.”

Ariel tried to picture Draco being _more_ insufferable, and wanted to smash her head against the table. “Good point.”

As she reached for another piece of toast, something strange happened. It felt like her ears were suddenly clogged, filled with cotton or shoved underwater. Everyone was suddenly silent, the roar of conversations dampened. Ariel shook her head, trying to clear the fog, but it did nothing.

That was when Ariel saw it.

The darkness was seeping into the Great Hall through the main doors. It was silent, but it sucked all the light and noise into it. Ariel had never seen it move like this, crawling along the floor and walls like vines. Usually, when she saw it in her peripheral vision, it disappeared entirely, but the more she looked at it now, the stronger it seemed to become. The colors of the Great Hall, once vibrant, were now muted and dull.

Ariel frantically looked around, but no one else seemed to notice it. Ron was helping himself to the fried sausage, while Hermione chatted away with Parvarti, who seemed to be complimenting her hair for once, which she’d managed to wrangle back into a ponytail.

 _“Tell me,”_ a cold, high voice hissed, like hail beating against a windowpane. _“tell me…”_

It hadn’t spoken to her — not like this, not since That Night.

 _“Tell me,”_ it said again, louder, this time, a command. _“Tell me what it said.”_

 _Go away,_ she thought, squeezing her eyes shut. _GO AWAY —_

“Hey — hey, Evans, you okay?”

Someone was shaking her. When Ariel opened her eyes, everything was back to normal — the din of students and professors, the colors and the light streaming in through the windows. It was George’s hand on her arm, trying to get her attention.

She felt dizzy. “I — what?”

“Are you alright?” George asked again, ducking his head down to try and look at her. “You’re looking a little queasy.”

Ariel peered over at Ron and Hermione, concern plastered all over their faces.

“No — I mean, yeah, I’m okay… just tired.” she rubbed at her eyes, and shoved her trembling hands under the table. “I think I just need to eat.”

And then, as if things couldn’t get any worse, Ariel saw that Snape was sitting at the High Table.

His eyes were on her already, dark and intense, like he’d been waiting for her. Ariel’s heart skipped a beat, thrumming away like a hummingbird’s. Snape hadn’t been at a meal for almost two weeks — why was he here now? Because Ariel had forced him to talk to her? Or was it something else? He hadn’t followed them after Filch’s office —

Fred nudged her, noticing Snape’s murderous gaze. “What’d you do, lass?”

Ariel accidentally swallowed the toast she’d forgotten to chew. Ron gave her a few whacks on the back, saving her from choking right there and solving all of Snape’s problems. “I didn’t — _do —_ anything,” she wheezed.

She was going to go lock herself in her dorm and never come out. So much for having _fun_ today.

Ariel took a long swig of pumpkin juice, avoiding Hermione’s eyes.

“Cheer up, Evans,” George hung his arm around her shoulders. “we’re going to see to it that not even the greasiest git to ever live doesn’t ruin your first Quidditch game. Well, as long as you don’t choke to death first.”

Somehow, Ariel seriously doubted that, but she didn’t doubt for a second that this match was bound to be eventful… somehow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I apologize for being MIA the best three or so months. As you all probably know, the world is crazy, and being a teacher in a school has been crazier. I’ve been having rehearsals with my kids (six feet apart of course) and got permission to start a chamber group, so I’ve been really busy managing not one, not TWO, but THREE separate orchestras. I wouldn’t trade it for the entire world and then some, but holy shit, I am so thankful for this break. 
> 
> If you could take a moment to leave a review, it would be really appreciated. Part of the reason I lost steam after last chapter is because I didn’t get much feedback, and it’s disheartening to not see much of a reaction after sitting down and writing for hours. I don’t have any intentions of abandoning this story, but I’d be lying if I said sometimes it’s hard to find motivation. 


	12. wait for it

Severus couldn’t recall ever dreading a Quidditch match as much as the one that would be occurring later this morning. He’d secretly been hoping that the pitch would be engulfed in a fiery inferno at some point between last night and the current moment in time, but as usual, Severus found himself disappointed. 

He had no desire to sit amongst throngs of nitwits and listen to them lose their stupid little minds over flying broomsticks and balls. The only time Severus had even remotely enjoyed Quidditch had been when he’d attended games with Lily, and that had quickly ended when the House rivalries had really and truly set in, around their third year. 

_ However,  _ he  _ had _ wanted to make it known to Miss Evans that  _ following  _ was not going to be tolerated in any way, shape, or form. For once, Severus was glad he’d listened to that insidious little voice, the cruel one that held nothing but contempt, when he’d watched the girl…  _ disappear _ in the Great Hall this morning. 

It had happened suddenly, and if Severus hadn’t been watching her as closely as he had, he likely would have missed it completely. Miss Evans had gone as still as a statue, her  _ (his)  _ dark eyes fixated on the entrance to the Great Hall, when all of a sudden, she’d gone white as a sheet, hands covering her ears — 

Which was why Severus found himself following Miss Evans to the Quidditch pitch. The Weasley twerp and Granger were stuck to Miss Evans’ side like they’d been Hexed there with a Sticking charm. It was completely nauseating, the level of devotion they showed her. Severus could tell it drove Lucius’ son mad. Draco was constantly pining for the girl’s attention, but nothing about his wealth, his status, or his personality was appealing to her. Severus wished he could tell Draco how foolish he was — when he’d been his age, he had thought those same attributes would have impressed Lily. 

“Are you sure you’re alright?” Granger was fussing in that voice, the same one that called out during his class. She’d stopped doing it the past two weeks, and it was clearly an act of defiance, a show of support for Miss Evans. Severus couldn’t have given less of a fuck about what Granger thought of him, but he had taken something akin to delight in massacreing her papers in retaliation. 

Severus had pretended like he wasn’t listening, but something was gnawing away at him whenever the girl was brought up, now. An insidious little voice that recited the same four words every time: 

_ But she’s your child.  _

Severus wanted to take that voice and catapult it into the center of a volcano. He had shoved The Incident into the same box he kept Lily, that he kept his childhood and the things that had twisted him into the adult he was today. Severus was determined to make sure that Miss Evans was safe — nothing more. He would not think about… the other thing. He couldn’t afford to. 

_ What more is a parent?  _ Something inside him whispered, hollow and high, like wings riding a wind current. 

The answer was standing in front of him — Granger’s imploring eyes, Weasley-twerp’s arm just barely touching Miss Evans’ shoulder. The little monsters cared about the girl, loved her, even. Merlin knew Miss Evans loved them, even in the short amount of time she’d known them. That was something she’d inherited from Lily — giving her devotion to whoever needed it, wanted it.

_ I don’t regret you, or seeing Severus,  _ Lily’s letter had said. She had lived her life, however short, with no regret, no shadow hanging over her. What did it say about Severus, that his only regret had been Lily, and everything he’d done to her, to Potter, to her —  _ their —  _ child. 

This thought hung over his head like a sword as Severus made his way to where the rest of the faculty was seated. The rest of them were already there, talking amongst themselves. Minerva was busying herself with making sure Jordan was settled in the commentator’s box. They seemed to be bickering about something, but with one stone cold glare from her, Jordan shut up and busied himself with making sure the microphone was adjusted properly. 

Someone was already there that made Severus forget about Miss Evans for a moment. 

Severus had not spoken to Dumbledore in thirteen days, nineteen hours, and three minutes. He’d been keeping this internal clock since The Incident, determined not to break it until the old coot came crawling back. It had been a betrayal of the highest degree, even if Dumbledore hadn’t known  _ everything,  _ he had known  _ something  _ was coming, and had allowed Severus to be blindsided, had allowed Miss Evans to carry around the burden of proof like it was some long forgotten heirloom Lily had left behind. 

Lily would have wrung their necks if she knew how the people she’d entrusted with her child were handling this. She would have burned the fucking school to the ground. 

“Hello, Severus.” Minerva greeted him as he reluctantly sat down beside her. Usually, Severus accompanied Dumbledore to these sorts of things, but he was almost certain that if Dumbledore came anywhere near his general vicinity, Severus would set his beard on fire. 

He grunted in response, the players beginning their ascent. Fifteen broomsticks all trying to race each other into the sky, as if they wouldn’t have enough to worry about in just a few minutes time. Severus scanned the Gryffindor stands for the girl, finding her sitting right in front of Hagrid, Weasley-twerp and Granger sandwiching her in between them. Her face shone with excitement, far from the distressed and dazed expression in the Great Hall.

“Care to wager?” Minerva asked, tearing his attention away from the girl. “Though I’d hate to take advantage, I know for a fact that Wood has been training the team like dogs.” 

If Severus heard one more mention of a dog _ ,  _ he was going to lose it.  _ I don’t think it was dogs.  _ Cheeky brat. 

“I thought betting was beneath you.” Severus eyed Minerva from the corner of his eye. “Especially when it comes to children.” 

“You may be the youngest of us all, but I hardly consider you to be a  _ child,  _ Severus.” 

He glared at her. Minerva pretended not to notice, the corners of her lips twitching. 

“I’ve already instructed the Slytherins to sacrifice one of their own to ensure victory.” Severus said flatly. 

Minerva gave him a wry smile. “And I thought Quidditch was beneath  _ you.”  _

“I hate Gryffindor  _ pride  _ even more.” 

She gave a long sigh, but her eyes still held some semblance of amusement in them. “Well, I’ll leave you to wallow, then. Unfortunately, I have to ensure that Mr Jordan doesn’t have  _ too  _ much to run with. It  _ is  _ only the first game, after all.” 

“You seemed to have misplaced your confidence, Minerva.” Severus called to her as she settled herself next to the boy. He didn’t envy her — he would’ve catapulted the brat from the stands the second the game started if he had to listen to his rambling, only two feet away. 

Quirrell was three or so rows behind him, the considerable distance between them not lost on Severus. Pomona and Filius sat in the front row, beside Dumbledore, who had not once turned to look back behind him. Severus glared mutinously at the back of his head. His robes were tangerine today, and though it sounded ridiculous, Severus couldn’t help but wonder if Dumbledore had worn such an offensive color to ensure that he was definitively seen. It was the manipulative, offhanded bullshit Severus was accustomed to after working with him for a decade. 

Miss Evans was waving to the Weasley twins, now, who have ducked below to wave at her and her cronies. She shouted something to one of them, and they blew an overdramatized kiss to her, which caused her face to nearly split open from the force of the smile. It was radiant — the happiest Severus had ever seen her. 

Severus quickly scrubbed that thought from his thoughts — he was here to watch the girl and make sure that there wasn’t anything suspicious going on. That was it. He couldn’t handle anything more. 

He decided to turn his attention momentarily to the game, loathed as he was to do so. Jordan was going strong, the Gryffindor’s already in possession of the Quaffle. Flint had assembled a strong team this year, which gave Severus some semblance of hope. It wasn’t so much the victory he enjoyed, rather that he could gloat until the start of the next school year, gleefully knocking Minerva down several pegs. 

“Johnson back in possession of the Quaffle, a clear field ahead, and off she goes!” 

Weasley-twerp cupped his hands around his mouth, hollering something Severus couldn’t make out. Whatever it was, it caused Miss Evans and Hagrid to chuckle. 

“She’s really flying, that Johnson, dodging a  _ speeding  _ Bludger with all the grace only a woman  _ that  _ attractive can possess —” 

“Jordan!” Minerva gave the boy a warning glare.

“Sorry, sorry — the goalposts are ahead, come on now Angelina! Keeper Bletchley dives — misses — GRYFFINDOR SCORE!” 

The Gryffindors roared, Miss Evans and Granger clapping with delight. Severus rolled his eyes as the Weasley-twerp hooted, pumping his fists into the air. 

“There goes that damn Bludger again — it’s really trying, but these flyers are quite nimble today —” 

The Bludger was suddenly spinning off the field. Severus hadn’t seen it miss anyone, so what had — 

He heard the children scream, saw Miss Evans dive out of the way just in time, and his heart stopped in his chest. He could feel it strangling him, twisting around his ribs and down to his stomach. It hurt to breathe. 

Severus sprang out of his seat, Minerva jumping up beside him. “Merlin and Morgana, what in  _ heaven’s  _ name was —”

The Bludger had swung back around, Granger and Weasley-twerp helping Miss Evans up and off the floor of the stands. The surrounding students all came forward, clearly looking to make sure she was alright, when the Bludger came barrelling towards the girl once more. Luckily this time Hagrid wasn’t taken off guard, his hand flying outward to smack it away. The Bludger quickly rebounded, not missing a single beat. 

The students shrieked as they scattered again, like a swarm of bees. Miss Evans yelled something and pointed, pulling her and Granger out of the way just in time. The Bludger collided with the stands, the wood splintering on impact. 

Jordan had noticed, too. “It seems we have a Bludger out of play — do we think it’s a coincidence that it’s the  _ Slytherin’s  _ Bludger?” 

“Jordan!” Minerva snapped. 

“Sorry — I mean, this would be a  _ gross  _ and  _ obvious  _ display of cheating —” 

“Jordan, I am  _ warning you —”  _

Severus couldn’t feel his hands anymore. The Bludger beat against the stands, against the exact spot when Miss Evans had been, like it was practicing what it wanted to do to her skull. 

The girl had pulled herself and Granger behind the stands, now separated from Weasley-twerp. The boy fought to get to them, but Hagrid was corralling the students away, yelling at them to stand back. Students started piling out of the stands, though a few of the older ones began casting Hexes at the Bludger, trying to undo whatever bewitchment had been placed on it. The Bludger turned its sights on them, then, giving them chase as they dove out of the way. Luckily, this gave Miss Evans just enough time to drag herself and Granger below the stands and out of view. 

Severus looked back at Quirrell, his eyes glued to the scene, too, his hand over his mouth in what appeared to be abject horror. There were too many people, too many suspects around, but  _ someone  _ was fucking with that damn Bludger, but  _ who —  _

He started reciting the counter-curse, keeping his eyes on the girl. It hovered mid-air for a few moments, prickles of relief traveling up his spine, until it began to shake violently. Severus forced the spell out quicker, not faltering with his precision, but he could feel the pull of magic slicing through — it wasn’t enough. 

His eyes finally went to Dumbledore, who had stood, his blue eyes icy. 

Their gaze met, and Severus took off. 

* * *

Ariel could hear Ron shouting for her and Hermione below the stands. Every time a student got close to try and get them out and to safety, the Bludger would lurch forward, like it was having some sort of fit. She couldn’t figure out why it had stopped smashing inside against the benches, but she wasn’t going to complain about it. 

She really preferred the troll to this, though. 

Fred swung by, grabbing the Bludger as Ariel peeked out. She watched in horror as it fought against him, one hand around the demon-ball, the other holding onto his broom for dear life. 

“NO —” Ariel started to shout, but it was drowned out by the commotion. 

“Go, Evans!” Seamus was hollering. “Go! Get out of there!” 

“Ariel, we have to move!” Hermione said, her eyes wide with fear. “It’s going to force its way through!” 

As if the Bludger had overheard them, it broke free of Fred’s grasp, barrelling towards them once again. Fred broom went spiraling towards the ground, the entire stadium letting out a collective shriek that made Ariel’s eardrums rattle. From up above them, Ariel heard some of the other students shouting spells, crackles of gold and blue echoing overheard. She peeked through the slits beneath the stands, trying to get a look at the professors and what they were doing. Professor Quirrell looked absolutely horrified, his hand clamped over his mouth — Professor McGonagall was making her way over to Dumbledore, who was —

— watching something else Ariel couldn’t see. She scanned the stands for Snape, but he wasn’t there, but he  _ had  _ been, she’d seen him just a few seconds ago. Where had he gone? 

A sinking feeling pulled at her, making her eyes blurry. They couldn’t make a run for it, the Bludger was too bloody fast, and Ariel couldn’t live with herself if something happened to Hermione — 

That was when the Bludger started up again. Ariel and Hermione screamed, clutching at each other as it rammed itself against the wood. She could hear each deafening  _ crack  _ as the wood came apart, the Bludger’s movements getting more and more desperate. She couldn’t let this happen, Hermione would get  _ hurt,  _ and it would be all her fault — 

_ have some fire _

Ariel stood up, worming herself through the opening. The Bludger had stopped, like it knew. 

Hermione tried to wrestle her back, but she was too slow. “No, Ariel,  _ NO —”  _

* * *

Both teams had picked up that something had gone wrong outside of their game. Hooch had begun blowing her whistle frantically as Severus raced towards the girl, barrelling through the throngs of students, all craning their necks to see what all the commotion was. The seventh years Gryffindor had been forced to flee when the Bludger began aiming itself at their heads, instead, meaning that it was only a matter of seconds until — 

Severus could hear his voice, distant and muted, commanding the little monsters to get the fuck out of the way. His heart felt like it was trying to beat its way out of his chest, a panicked rhythm hammering away against his ribs as he made his way towards Lily’s daughter. She was so close, but the Bludger had set its sights on her once again, and Miss Evans was —

Granger pulling on her arm, trying to drag her back down as the girl  _ climbed out.  _ “No, Ariel,  _ no!” _

But Granger was too late — Miss Evans was standing on top of the bench, shouting at Bludger. “Hey! It’s me you want, yeah? Come and get me!”

She was — 

_ more importantly, my boy, she is yours _

Severus lifted his wand as the Bludger fired.  _ “Protego!” _

The Shield went up in the knick of time, knocking Miss Evans backwards. Severus didn’t bother looking to see what or where the Bludger had gone. 

“Get up,” Severus snarled, reaching his hand blindly towards her.  _ “Now.”  _

Miss Evans took his hand without hesitation, her  _ (his)  _ dark eyes fixed on his. Severus grabbed the girl, swinging her around him. She was small  _ (too small, fucking PETUNIA),  _ which in this moment, worked to his advantage as he shot out of the stands with her in tow. 

“Professor—“ Miss Evans tried to say, but Severus heard the rush of air behind him, the crowd screaming — 

_ “Reducto!”  _ Severus shouted. 

It exploded, the shards cascading around them like fireworks. Severus tugged Miss Evans beneath his cloak, shielding her eyes with one hand, and his own with the other. 

The girl stared up at him, eyes wide.  _ “Whoa,” _ was all she said.

Severus could hear his heartbeat in his ears, the edges of his vision shimmering. He knelt down in front of the girl, looking her over for any noticeable injuries. Vaguely aware that he was saying something, that he was asking the girl questions, Severus kept his eyes trained on hers  _ (his) _ . 

It wasn’t long before Granger and the Weasley-twerp were throwing themselves at the girl, followed swiftly by Minerva and Poppy. They carried her away, a sea of worry and concern and relief, but something inside of Severus was still ticking down. The explosion hadn’t gone off — he was simply suspended in time, waiting for the real strike. 

That was the moment Severus knew that whatever had decided to go after the Stone wanted the girl now, too. 

And he was going to kill them if it was the last thing he did. 

* * *

Ariel dreamt of the woman in the mirror, again. 

There the woman stood in front of some sort of large vanity with an attached mirror. Her hair was shoulder length, but covering most of her face in waves. When she looked up to the glass, she did not look at herself, but at the space behind it, as if she knew Ariel was there, watching her, even though she couldn’t see who it was. 

When Ariel awoke, she was shaking. There was an indescribable feeling in her chest, like she had lost something precious she could never recover. 

_ her piercing anguish rising high above the foam  _

Hermione was curled up beside her, facing the opposite way, towards Parvarti’s bed. Her breathing was soft and shallow, a comforting noise in the otherwise silent room. They’d fallen asleep hours ago, Lavender braiding Ariel’s hair in an attempt to make her feel better after what had happened at the Quidditch match, but it hadn’t done much. There was a sinking pit in her stomach that kept growing the more Ariel thought about it. 

The darkness would’ve been unfair enough, but now  _ other  _ things were starting to go after her. The Bludger had kept them all so distracted that they hadn’t been able to see who was doing the bewitching. Ron had sworn up and down that he’d seen Snape muttering something under his breath, but Snape had been the one to  _ save  _ her. He’d stood between her and that Bludger, his arm around her, making sure that not even the Shield spells harmed her. 

Ariel almost didn’t want it to admit it, but the second Snape had appeared, all of her fear had vanished, like a candle in the wind. He’d asked her if she was alright at least ten times before everyone else had started to glom her, and all Ariel could do was nod at him jerkily instead of thanking him or asking him what happened, or how he’d gotten over there so bloody fast. 

_ the wanderer weary, full of fear _

Maybe it was a sign that she never should have opened Mum’s letter. It had been like Pandora’s box, the troll, the darkness, that cold, high voice, and the stupid Bludger following. 

She brought her pillow to her face, burying her face in it as she stifled a sob. It was beginning to feel like too much. She wanted it to stop. She wanted things to go back to normal, to do boring old Charms homework, being terrible at flying and practicing Stinging Hexes to use on Malfoy. 

Ariel whispered an apology to Hermione, and slipped out of the room. 

* * *

Severus had not bothered to try and sleep. Every time he closed his eyes, he heard the sickening  _ THWACK  _ of the Bludger crunching the stands down to sawdust, and the girl’s steely gaze, unafraid, unwavering, unmoving. 

It was a quarter past midnight, the fire dying in the hearth, and a third of a bottle of firewhiskey had. Dumbledore had tried to come through his Floo three times already, but Severus had disconnected it after The Incident. It was pointless, anyway — Severus destroyed the Bludger, and any evidence along with it. They both already knew that there was someone inside the fucking school after the Stone, but what that had to do with Miss Evans evaded Severus. It was like an itch he couldn’t scratch, the answer right below his hooked nose. The writing on the wall was a tongue he couldn’t understand, the letters blurred and dimly lit. Something was happening, but what the sodding fuck did it have to do with Lily’s daughter? 

He knew that eventually he’d be forced to have a discussion with Dumbledore, take more protective measures, but for now, Severus just needed to bob on his sea of Occlumency — alone. It was the only thing keeping him from a nervous breakdown. 

_ you can’t protect her _

_ hide them, hide them all  _

Severus thought about Lily. 

He’d been carefully unraveling the memory of her, like it was a sacred jewel or parchment long thought lost. The memory she’d left him had bound itself back into his thoughts, reweaving itself into a tapestry of emotions, both past and present. There were moments where Severus found himself cursing her for writing the damn letter, others where he would’ve given anything to read those words again, to hold a piece of Lily in his hands. Her words had been sloppy and irregular, which was unlike her, but spoke volumes about the state in which she’d penned it. A letter that was only meant to be read if she were dead — for a child Lily knew she would fight for, until her last breath. 

Above all was the soul-crushing guilt that had accompanied it all. Severus had killed her, and now, he had somehow been afforded the privilege of watching their daughter grow up. Well, that was, if Miss Evans made it past this year without inanimate objects fracturing her skull. 

Severus wished, above all else, in the deepest part of that untouchable box, that Lily would have told him. He would’ve moved heaven and Earth to make sure they had been safe. Potter had been naive — so, so young, but naive. The Dark Lord would have hunted them until the ends of the Earth if he thought the child was in any way a threat. Severus tried to connect the subject of the Prophecy to the girl, who slept only several floors away, and felt his heart stutter. 

The powers that be had a truly twisted sense of irony. 

Severus’ waves of Occlumency carried him away from things he wanted to forget. That was, until —

_ BANG BANG BANG  _

Severus slammed his fist down, intent on mangling whatever little fatuous cretin needed him  _ now  _ of all times. He threw open the door, a Child Appropriate “fuck off” on his lips, when he saw her. 

It was Miss Evans, which was the exact moment Severus realized he was hopelessly ill-equipped when she decided to force his existence to interact with his. She stared up at him wordlessly, her traveling cloak wrapped securely around her person. The soft glow of the fire reflected off of her  _ (his)  _ eyes. They gave him one request. 

He really shouldn’t have been surprised. 

Severus narrowed his eyes down at her, but he couldn’t find the energy to be angry with Miss Evans, even though a distant voice screamed at him to take ten million points from Gryffindor. He was too tired — she had successfully worn him down.

He moved aside, a silent invitation. Miss Evans said nothing as she slipped past him. 

“I assume you’re aware that you’re breaking curfew.” Severus said, trying to summon as much displeasure into his voice as he could. It seemed to have worked — the girl cringed. 

“I couldn’t sleep.” Miss Evans said — her eyes said as much. There were the beginnings of dark circles underneath them, her hair a tangled mess of red. 

Severus made a disapproving noise, but motioned for Miss Evans to sit in one of the chairs adjacent to his desk. He rapped the desk twice with his knuckle, “Hot chocolate.” 

The girl’s eyes went as big as bowls as the steaming mug materialized in front of her. “How’d you do that?”

“Magic.” he stifled the urge to roll his eyes. “Drink that, it’ll help.” 

She eyed the mug suspiciously. “How? Did you put something in it?” 

“Chocolate has healing properties.” 

Miss Evans gingerly picked it up from the bottom. “Why would I need to be healed?” 

“Forgive me,” Severus sneered, if only to mask how much he wanted to balk. “I believe you had a rather eventful Quidditch match, if my memory recalls correctly.” 

The girl grimaced. She looked like Lily when she did that. Her nose scrunched up the same exact way, paling the freckles around her nose. “I knew I hated flying.” 

Something warm nestled beneath his ribs at her words. Severus studied her carefully as she blew on the mug, giving it a few sniffs before deciding it was probably safe to drink. 

“Thank you for saving me.” Miss Evans said quietly. She looked up at him with such earnesty, that Severus couldn’t look her fully in the face. It felt like staring into the sun for too long. 

Severus didn’t know what to say, so he said nothing. Saving Miss Evans was his entire existence, now. 

“Do you know what happened?” Miss Evans asked, peering up at him hesitantly. “Hermione said someone must’ve Jinxed the Bludger to come after me.” 

Severus waited until she took a sip of the hot chocolate to answer. “Miss Granger should not have been the only witch to come to that conclusion.” 

Miss Evans scowled — he recognized that scowl, the sharpness of her cheekbones and the intensity in her dark eyes. 

He wasn’t going to survive this. There was no rational path that would lead Severus out of this unharmed. How had he not seen it before?

“I  _ knew  _ that,” Miss Evans said in a voice that sounded put-off, but conveyed every inch of the child she was. “You know what I mean. Do you know why it happened? Or who did it?” 

Severus gave her a long, searching look. “It could have been a student executing a prank gone horribly wrong,”  _ it wasn’t,  _ “or a malfunctioning Bludger,”  _ it wasn’t,  _ “or something much more… sinister. It could have happened to any of the students.”

_ Not just any student,  _ Conscience said,  _ the Girl-Who-Lived, all thanks to you, Severus Snape  _

Miss Evans didn’t miss a beat. “What about… that  _ thing _ that followed me, right after Halloween?”

His eyes narrowed. “What  _ about  _ it? Did you see it during the match?” 

The girl set down the mug, her mouth set in a hard, thin line. She must’ve picked up on that from Minerva. “No, I didn’t.”

“Then what relevance does it have?” 

“I’m not stupid.” Miss Evans stared him down, over the steaming mug. “I know somethings going on, I just can’t tell if it’s because of the Stone, or because of  _ me.”  _

Severus settled back in his chair, trying to stifle the urge to hit something. He had been avoiding this idea since Miss Evans had first seen what she called “the darkness.” There was only one possible connection between the Stone and the girl, but it was impossible, not with Dumbledore here, not with the fortress of spells and wards surrounding the school. 

The Dark Lord being anywhere near the school was enough to make Severus’ blood run cold, a hollow feeling in his bones that howled like winter, but it was the only explanation he could think of. Unless, the Dark Lord was directly influencing someone here, but  _ who —  _

Severus would get his answer sooner than he thought. The girl set the mug down, her hands shaking. 

“I… I have to tell you something.” Miss Evans looked up at him nervously. “Somethings happening, and I don’t know how to make it stop.” 

* * *

Ariel watched Snape carefully when she had finished. His eyes were closed, but she could see a vein in his temple pulsing, like there was some horrible creature trying to rip it’s way free. Ariel looked around at the…  _ things  _ suspended in that weird, bluish-green goo in the jars, and shuddered. She wondered if any of  _ them  _ had popped out of people’s skulls. Probably. 

(That was a little cool, she thought to herself)

“How long?” Snape finally asked, the shadows dancing across his face. His expression was unreadable, but it hurt to stare at it for too long. 

She shrugged — Snape’s hands turned into claws on the desk. She quickly racked her brain for an answer that wouldn’t end in the dungeons being brought down around them. “Since the night I told you… about you-know-what.” she said quickly. 

“What does it say?” Snape asked in a voice that told her that he didn’t really want to know the answer. 

“The voice?” Ariel stifled a shiver, thinking back to this morning, when the world had gone grey and cold, like she’d been plunged to the bottom of a lake. “Today was the first time that’s happened. It wanted me to tell it something.” 

_ “What?”  _ Snape finally snapped, the muscles in his neck strained. “Are you  _ trying  _ to be purposefully obtuse?” 

“I don’t  _ know,  _ I  _ told you!”  _ Ariel threw back. “I have no idea what it wants!” 

Snape seemed to be biting back a scream. “Has it ever happened in Gryffindor Tower?” 

Ariel paused, thinking. She’d been having weird dreams, but no  _ actual  _ darkness had come through up there. “No, I don’t think so.” 

“What about my classroom?” 

She shook her head slowly. “No… not there, either.” 

Snape leaned back in his chair, his hands pressed together, resting just below his chin. “Your scar, has it bothered you?” 

Ariel opened and closed her mouth several times. “How’d you know?” 

“You mentioned that it had done so after the first time.” he stared at like, his gaze intense. 

“What does it mean?” Ariel asked, trying to sound brave and big and strong — like Snape — but it came out small and timid. She hated feeling this way. She’d never been scared of the Dursleys, had never feared what they could do to her. They were so consistent in showing her how much they hated her that Ariel knew their patterns, like when Aunt Petunia took her grocery shopping, she’d leave Ariel there.

The darkness had spoken to her. If it could do  _ that…  _ what else could it do? Ariel didn’t very much feel like finding out. 

Snape’s black eyes glittered, but he was focused on something else, she could tell. He was staring at the spot just above her head. “You tell me.” he said. 

Ariel stared at him, taken off guard. “How would I know that? It’s obviously whoever’s trying to steal the Stone, right?” 

He leaned forward with gritted teeth. “And wouldn’t a revelation like that warrant the appropriate  _ intervention?”  _

“Who was I supposed to tell?” Ariel asked, giving him a pointed look. “You wouldn’t talk to me!”

“You could have told one of the countless  _ capable ADULTS —”  _ Snape's voice rose, like the tide pulling back and forth. 

“Like who?” Ariel said, leaning forward in her chair. “You’re the only one who knew, and you haven’t even  _ looked  _ at me since the floating room!” 

“And you decided to retaliate by  _ not  _ telling anyone about the disembodied voice that has been stalking you!” Snape hurled back. “Do you have a death wish, or is it simply the gift that  _ bravery  _ provides you and the other Gryffindor halfwits?” 

“I didn’t even tell Ron and Hermione until yesterday!” she could hear her voice getting louder, but she didn’t care anymore. “I didn’t  _ know!”  _

Snape’s eyes glittered dangerously. “You have been nothing but trouble since that letter, using it as an excuse to be foolish and  _ reckless.”  _

“You didn’t want it!” Ariel shouted, leaping from her chair. “You didn’t want anything to do with me! You act like Mum never existed, that it doesn’t  _ matter  _ that she’s not here —” 

The  _ SCREECH  _ of a chair made her stop. Snape had stood, his chest heaving, something wild moving behind his eyes. It wasn’t the light, it was the thing Ariel had seen right after she’d shown him The Truth. It stared at her, making her entire nervous system quiver. 

“Every —  _ day —  _ I am reminded that she is gone.” Severus hissed. “Why do you think I’m here, girl? Because I  _ relish  _ watching her only living child walk the same halls she once did? I am here for one reason only, and that is to make sure that you stay  _ alive.  _ I cannot  _ do  _ that if you don’t  _ tell me  _ these things.” 

She wasn’t prepared for how much his words disarmed her. She wasn’t prepared for how small they made her feel, or how hearing him finally acknowledge that Mum was gone, and that it hurt someone other than her, was going to strike her heart. 

“I didn’t know.” Ariel said, mostly to herself, helplessly. “I didn’t know it was real, and I didn’t know who to trust. I’m sorry.” 

Snape moved from behind his desk. For a split second, Ariel was quite sure that he was going to throw her out (again), but instead, he came around to the front of the desk, leaning against it, one leg crossed over the other. He stared down at her, still deeply vexed, but that pinprick of light was back in his eyes. It was a strange expression, one Ariel had not yet added to her Snape and His Expressions library. Everything he said and did needed to be run through some sort of machine inside of her brain since Snape refused to talk like a normal human being. 

“I know this has been… difficult.” he finally said. It was a toneless voice, one Ariel couldn’t get a read on at all. She wondered how he was doing that, after getting so worked up. 

She gripped the sides of the chair. “You mean the giant smoke monster? Or the cursed ball that tried to off me today?” 

Snape’s face did not change, but he inclined his head. “Certainly  _ those _ … amongst other things.” 

It took Ariel a few seconds to realize what in the world he was talking about. It hit her like an electric shock, making her sit up a little straighter. Snape had never willingly brought up…  _ other things. _ She racked her brain for something to say, but it felt like she’d gone into overdrive, too many thoughts, too many things she wanted to say, ask, do,  _ demand  _ of him. 

Snape must’ve seen that her brain was short circuiting, because he looked bored, like he was waiting for her to reboot. 

“I… didn’t burn it.” Ariel finally decided on. “The letter, I mean. The Protection Charm is back on it, though.” 

He seemed to consider this, giving her a long, searching look. “It was yours to do with as you wished.” 

That sounded like a question, in Snape-speak. “I didn’t think Mum would want me to get rid of it. I… couldn’t do it.”

“I doubt she wanted you to do anything other than read it.” he said coldly. He looked… empty. 

“She wanted me to show you.” Ariel shot back.  _ “That’s  _ something other than reading.” 

He flinched — it wasn’t a regular flinch, but it was so subtle that if she hadn’t been watching she would’ve missed it. 

“Did you… really not remember?” Ariel asked softly. “You had no idea, even when the Blood Wards stopped working?” 

“Does the word  _ Obliviate  _ evade you?” 

Ariel bit her lip. “It didn’t, Mum didn’t know what was going to happen. I don’t think a letter was the best way to do it.” 

The mask dropped, his face troubled. “What else did you expect of her?” 

“I don’t know.” she said, feeling stupid and selfish. “Would you have wanted her to tell you? When she found out about me?” 

Snape bowed his head, his hair hiding his face like a curtain. He didn’t say anything for a minute or so. 

“It was a very different world, back then.” he finally said, not meeting her imploring gaze. “Your mother did the right thing.” 

Ariel swallowed back the lump in her throat. “Did she do the right thing when she wrote that letter?” 

His eyes flashed, that impossible light inside them shining back at her. They were a lighthouse, trying to get her to see the shoreline clearly, but the light was dim and quick. It reminded her of the Snitch at the game. Ariel would’ve hated to be the Seeker — it seemed dreadfully tedious. 

“It is impossible to tell.” Snape said, slowly, deliberately, painfully. “That has yet to reveal itself.” 

Ariel ran this through by her Snape-Department living inside of her brain. “I don’t think so.” 

The light inside his eyes went out — the lighthouse gone, for now. It faded, the lines in his face so sharp, they could’ve cut glass. 

“You said your mother couldn’t have known what would happen.” Snape’s voice was so deep, it didn’t have a bottom. “I would stand by that statement, given the circumstances.” 

Ariel tucked her knees under her chin, bringing her feet atop the chair. If Snape disapproved, he didn’t say so. “I’m glad she told me. It eliminated you as a suspect, Well, at least it  _ had, _ but Ron thinks —”

Snape’s head jerked up sharply.  _ “ _ A suspect of  _ what,  _ exactly?” 

An alarm starting blaring inside of her head, flashing lights and sirens galore. Ariel clamped her mouth shut, wanting to smash her head against the desk. How could she have said something so  _ stupid  _ when Snape had been  _ willingly  _ enagaged with her? She’d been trying to be honest and open, because that  _ did  _ seem to work with Snape, but questioning his integrity was — 

_ DANGER DANGER DANGER,  _ screamed her brain.  _ ABORT MISSION, ABORT —  _

“Nothing,” Ariel said, shaking her head wildly. “it doesn’t matter.” 

“I think it very much does.” Snape said in a deadly voice. She could feel it poisoning the air around them. 

“It was just a stupid theory, but I know it can’t be you —  _ I don’t  _ think it’s you —”

“Miss Evans —” his voice was getting quieter and quieter — when Snape got angry, he got quiet, and it was only a matter of seconds until he let her have it. 

Ariel took a deep breath. “We thought it’s you trying to steal the Stone. Ron… made a good point. Every time something happens, you’re  _ right  _ there, and you’re the one who told me about the Stone in the first place. You keep saving me, though… so that doesn’t really make much sense, does it?” 

She didn’t see him move, he moved so fast. She wondered if he’d done that teleporting thing they’d done at Aunt Petunia’s — what had it been called? Appropriating? Appropo? She couldn’t remember, but the next thing Ariel knew, he was practically on top of her. 

Snape knelt down in front of her, so close that their knees touched. The lighthouse was back, the light not warm, nor cold, but blinding. 

“If you think there is any part of me that would hurt you,” Snape said, in a voice that was barely a whisper, but was so loud that it hurt to listen to, raw and cruel. “you are not only foolish, but clearly illiterate.” 

There was a feeling like starlight inside her heart. The more she looked at Snape, the brighter it grew. 

_ takes on last breath _

Ariel swallowed her fear in one gulp. “Prove it, then.” 

His hand gripped the arm of the chair, like it was a lifeline. 

_ and leaps _

“As you wish.” said Snape.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Admittedly, I think THIS was my favorite chapter to write so far. Poor lil babies, finally having a conversation! *blows kazoos and pops streamers*
> 
> Thank you all for your incredibly kind words in the last chapter. They really pushed me with this one, to the point where I didn’t want to stop writing. I think my brain is so used to WORK WORK WORK that this was such a contrast in comparison. 
> 
> Anyway, I would be lying if I said after this week that my work/grad school life will be any easier. I promise to try and update as much as I can, when I can. If you could leave a review on this chapter, it will be hoarded in my email account so I can go back and read them obsessively :P 
> 
> Please stay safe out there. Death to 2020, woohoo!


	13. unchartered

Ariel couldn’t decide whether or not Hagrid was a wonderful friend, or a really, really terrible secret keeper as she exited his hut.

She decided the answer was probably both as the door shut behind them, Hagrid’s worried voice carrying through the cracks as he spoke to what Ariel hoped was presumably Fang. She’d come with Ron and Hermione for tea, and to discuss the Quidditch match, but then Hagrid had let the name _Nicholas Flamel_ slip, and soon enough, he was muttering and shooing them out, as if he’d had a bad fright.

“I can’t believe this,” Ron said, the three of them huddled together for warmth as they headed back up to the castle. “after all that’s happened, we have a right to know!”

Ariel sighed, watching her breath hang in the air like smoke before it disappeared. It wasn’t a discouraged sigh, or an indifferent one, but it caused Hermione to turn to look at her, a question in her brown eyes. Ariel shook her head at her, the silent exchange between them lost on Ron, who continued to huff and puff in annoyance.

“Hagrid’s already told us too much as it is,” said Hermione, her lips pressed together. “I don’t want him to get into any trouble.”

Ariel nodded in agreement, trying to picture Snape’s face if he knew what Hagrid had just told him. He’d probably have broken one of Hagrid’s rock cakes over his head.

“Yeah, but Ariel almost had her head knocked off by that Bludger, _something_ is happening!” Ron said, kicking the dirt road with his boots.

Both Ariel and Hermione winced at his choice of words. Her boots went _crunchcrunchcrunch_ over grass and dead leaves, the path up to the school seeming much farther than the trek down to Hagrid’s. It was beginning to get dark, the sun settling itself behind the treeline, like it was making itself comfortable beneath the cover at its own pace. It reminded Ariel of getting into bed after a long day.

“Well, we have a name.” Ariel said, trying to sound optimistic. “That’s a start, don’t you think?”

“Nicholas Flamel… it sounds so familiar,” Hermione said, eyebrows knitting together in deep thought. “I swear I’ve heard it somewhere before.”

“I’m sure you’ve read it in at least _one_ of your books.” Ron offered, rather unhelpfully. Ariel shot him A Look — he’d been in a horrible mood since lunch, when Malfoy and Pansy had come over and reenacted the Bludger scene at the Quidditch game for them. Ron had tried to jump over the table to pummel Malfoy himself, but Ariel had managed to scrawl _“kick me”_ on a napkin, place a Sticking Charm on it, and had it over to Fred, who’d levitated it onto Malfoy’s back as he and Pansy had left the Great Hall.

“Well, I’m going to the library to find out,” Hermione said, a hopeful expression on her face. “We’ll be able to find out more if there’s three of us looking.”

“Of course,” Ariel said, and Hermione smiled.

“As long as we’re done in time for dinner, I’m okay with it.” Ron said, his stomach voicing it’s opinion of the matter just then. “Those rock cakes Hagrid put out made what we brewed in Potions yesterday look like Christmas dinner.”

“We’ll be quick,” Ariel promised. “Besides, I have to be back in time for my detention.”

Snape had awarded Ariel with two months of detention for sneaking out. This was, of course, an elaborate ruse. He’d promised to help her discourage the Giant Smoke Monster from following her, and he had upheld his promise… well, at least so far, he had. Ariel was on day five of detention, which wasn't really a detention. Snape had ordered her to sit down and do whatever homework she had neglected, and then disappeared into his storerooms. Then, he’d walk her back up to Gryffindor Tower without a single word, and that was that.

It was… not what Ariel had hoped for, but it was a start. Not to mention the coin Snape had given her. It was Charmed so that if she held it in her palm and thought of a message, he would receive it on his, only he got a pocket watch. Ariel didn’t know how to make a bloody coin look inconspicuous, but she gave herself another week before she lost it.

He’d given her one rule: no one was to know the truth about the detentions, or about the coin — not even Ron and Hermione. Ariel had tried to protest it, because they were her _friends_ and _she_ trusted them, but she was swiftly learning that Snape didn’t trust literally anyone. He’d made her swear it, and Ariel wasn’t about to go breaking any promises to him anytime soon.

It was something, and it was more than enough for Ariel, for now. The trade-off was that while Ariel and Snape tried to track the Giant Smoke Monster, she was trying to figure out what the bloody hell was so damn important about this Stone Fluffy was guarding, and who _really_ wanted it with Ron and Hermione’s help.

And Snape didn’t know that. So it was even, really. The secrets she kept made everything fair, in her mind.

Ron gave her a sympathetic pat on the shoulder. “I’m sorry, mate. I don’t know how you’ve made it this far already.”

Ariel shrugged. “It’s not so bad.”

He shuddered. “Whatever you say. I’d take scrubbing bedpans by hand over those creepy dungeons any day.”

She sighed again, trying to block out Ron’s negativity. She didn’t blame him — Snape _was_ a git and had been downright horrible to them all, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that had enveloped her since the night of the Quidditch match. The lighthouse in Snape’s eyes was her only beacon now, the only thing she trusted to keep _whatever_ was in the school away from her and her friends.

She was beginning to get the feeling that there was something Snape wasn’t telling her, though. Something about the Giant Smoke Monster put a quiet desperation in his eyes, one Ariel couldn’t quite place as a product of it being out of his control, or because it was interested in her.

_every day I am reminded she is gone_

_I am here for one reason only and that is_

_to make sure you stay_

_alive_

“Do you think Hagrid knows who’s after the Stone?” Ron’s question sliced through Ariel’s thoughts like a butcher knife. “Maybe _that’s_ why he won’t tell us anything.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Hermione quipped, but Ariel saw her eyes scan the grounds warily. “If Hagrid knew, then Professor Dumbledore would know, and there wouldn’t be a problem.”

“Yeah but… who in the school would want it _that_ badly? Why doesn’t this Nicholas Flamel just keep it?” Ariel asked, frowning. “They’ve already let a troll in the school and sent that Bludger after me.”

 _Enough to kill you for it,_ a cold, dark voice whispered.

“Someone who knows what it’s meant for.” said Hermione, grimacing.

“It better be something good,” Ron said, almost bitterly, but it was diluted by something else, something Ariel couldn’t place. “all this trouble for a rock.”

“But who here would try to _steal_ it?” Ariel asked quietly. “It can’t be a student… no one else knows besides the three of us and the teachers, and Dumbledore trusts all of them.”

“I still don’t think we should cross Snape off the list yet.” Ron said darkly, but Ariel noticed that his eyes flickered to her, a sort of hesitant fear in his eyes, like he was testing the waters.

“If it were Snape, he would’ve done something already.” Ariel said, hardening her gaze. This argument had come up in Hagrid’s hut too, and while Ariel couldn’t give Hermione and Ron the concrete proof that Snape was innocent, Hagrid had been adamant that Snape wasn’t trying to steal the Stone, let alone trying to harm a student.

Hermione went quiet. “Maybe… maybe whoever wants it isn’t trying to steal it for themselves.”

That was when Ariel saw it move. It was quick, but as they ascended the stairs back into the school, the smokey darkness moved across the entrance, like a train passing through a graveyard. It moved with purpose, Ariel could tell. It wanted her to see it. It had waited for her.

She didn’t know how she knew that.

Ariel froze, her blood running cold. Ron noticed that she’d stopped walking first, his eyes darting from Ariel, and then back to the entrance. His face didn’t hold anything other than concern, his eyes shining with worry.

“You okay?” Ron asked. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to complain about Snape, I just —”

“It’s fine.” Ariel pushed past him, catching up with Hermione, who had stopped just past the main entrance. “I don’t want to talk about this anymore.”

“Wait — hey, Ariel, I’m really sorry.” Ron pleaded, but Ariel barely registered what he was saying. She just wanted to get away and into the Great Hall, surrounded by other people, and fast.

Ariel pulled Hermione with her as Ron hurried to catch up behind them. She gripped at her hand, making a beeline towards the Great Hall. The smell of roast chicken wafted through the foyer along with the din of students, and there was safety in numbers.

“The library —” Hermione started, but Ariel cut her off.

“Tomorrow,” Ariel said as the torches flickered. “we’ll go tomorrow. Nicolas Flamel isn’t going anywhere.”

* * *

Dumbledore had sent Severus a peace offering in the form of an ambush.

This was, of course, a move only utilized when push came to shove. It had been eighteen days, thirteen hours, and two minutes since Severus had last spoken to Dumbledore, the silent message between them at the Quidditch match a momentary lapse in judgement, but not at all a reason to restart the clock. Severus had no intentions of ending this either, the girl and whatever was inside the bloody school the only thing on his mind.

He watched Lily-thing scamper out of Hagrid’s hut, Granger and Weasley-twerp in tow. He was really trying to maintain the illusion that he was going to let her get anywhere near this — he didn’t even know what to fucking call it — whatever pedophiliac stalker was watching the girl, speaking to her on a plane of existence no one else could see.

It was not lost to Severus that _he_ could be labeled the pedophiliac stalker, but the difference was that no one was going to find out that he was following the brat, and that he was trying to keep her from getting herself killed. He didn’t know what he was thinking, having the girl stay in his classroom after nightfall to see if anything… _happened._

Weasley-twerp was complaining about something, throwing his hands up in exasperation while the girls exchanged a look behind his back. Lily-thing seemed distracted, her eyes drifting off into the distance as Weasley-twerp rambled. Granger seemed to be deep in thought — Severus knew that look from class. It came right before she called out a question, and Severus docked ten points.

He’d been following Lily-thing when she wandered outside of the castle. The coin he’d given her had a Tracking Charm on it, so if she went anywhere she wasn’t supposed to, or called for Severus, he’d be there in seconds. Lily-thing didn’t know the half of it, for obvious reasons, but Severus wasn’t fucking around with this Stone business anymore. Lily-thing had no idea how much danger she could be in, didn’t know how dark the magic that followed her was. If someone was following her in shadows, whispering her name and demanding things… it was soul-crushing magic, magic you couldn’t come back from. Magic that would tear you apart piece by piece, and it still wouldn’t be enough to satisfy.

Severus knew this magic well.

This was, of course, incredibly inconvenient for him. The Dark Lord had not yet returned, and Severus was watching the girl’s every move on top of keeping his storeroom and the infirmary well-stocked, performing his Head of House duties, and teaching the little dunderheads how _not_ to blow each other up.

 _The price you pay, for becoming a father,_ Conscience said, coldly, carelessly, calculatingly.

_You didn’t want anything to do with me! You act like Mum never existed, that it doesn’t matter that she’s not here —_

He bit back a snarl.

Severus un-Disillusioned himself from behind the bush he’d been crouched behind. This was absolutely fucking ridiculous. If someone saw him, Severus was going to have to answer a lot of hard questions, and the last thing he needed was Dumbledore —

“Ah,” said a voice Severus had not heard for eighteen days, thirteen hours, and — now _ten_ — minutes. “Severus, my boy, I didn’t think I’d find you out here.”

Severus eyed a nearby stick. The end was sharp enough so that if he thrust it into his eyeball, he could probably do enough brain damage. He did not turn to face Dumbledore, keeping his eyes locked on Lily-thing.

“I do recall recommending long walks as a sort of… outlet, if you will.” Dumbledore continued, as if they were discussing the weather. “I didn’t think you’d actually heed any advice from me, but it is a lovely evening.”

He’d been caught — there was no delaying this any longer. Lily-thing was giving Weasley-twerp a cross look, the boy averting his eyes sheepishly. After a moment, they disappeared over the hill, back up to the school. In a few minutes, they’d reappear as they continued the steep climb back.

Severus turned, letting out a deep sigh. There stood the Headmaster, his robes a soft lilac color (Severus noted that he knew that particular color swatch, with a tinge of horror). Dumbledore matched the sunset blooming behind them, pastels of pink and yellow and orange adorning the sky.

“I had planned on visiting Hagrid,” Dumbledore’s eyes twinkled at him, like nothing was wrong, like he hadn’t a care in the world. “he’s expressed concern about some beast in the forest as of late, something hunting unicorns.”

A feeling pricked the back of Severus’ neck, like pins and needles scurrying down his spine.

“Well, don’t dally on _my_ account,” Severus said coldly. The clock inside his head went off, making the insides of his ears rattle.

Dumbledore’s eyes met his, the same way they had at the Quidditch match. He gave Severus a long, searching look before clasping his hands together in front of him — here was the olive branch. “Hagrid will certainly understand if I explain that we had a serious matter to discuss.”

Something — not the clock — inside of Severus' brain felt like it had clicked off. He stared and stared at Dumbledore, the urge to laugh welling up inside of him, like there was a punchline he hadn’t yet figured out.

“You want to discuss a serious matter with me?” Severus asked, in a voice that shook around the edges. “Have you dictated that I’m once again worthy to be privy to such dialogue, or is this simply a rouse to lull me back into thinking I am to be trusted?”

Dumbledore finally frowned. “I trust you implicitly, Severus. I have never once doubted your loyalties since Tom set his sights on Lily and her family.”

He barked out a humorless laugh. “You didn’t trust me to deal with those human shitstains that made the girl their own personal house elf —”

“Severus —”

“Or with the fact that the Lily’s daughter wasn’t Potter’s at all — that if the Dark Lord were to find out, that I would immediately compromised with no hope of securing information for the Order since I would be _dead,_ and the girl would be too —”

Severus turned away, a feeling in his chest that crushed his heart like an avalanche. If that foolish, incomprehensible girl had kept this secret all to herself —

“Severus, I realize the circumstances are not ideal,” there was a hand on his shoulder now. “but I can assure you that anything done on my part was not intended to cause you pain. Lily wanted —”

“What Lily _wanted_ and what Lily had _control over_ are two entirely different things.” Severus said through gritted teeth. “She wrote that letter for Miss Evans to find someday, yes, but if you had even an _inkling_ of suspicion _,_ it would have been far better to come from you rather than her. It should not have been Miss Evans’ burden to bear, alone.” _As it had been Lily’s._

Dumbledore knew nothing of pain. He did not know what it felt like stare into that memory, to see Lily again, to have a piece of her Severus had _made_ himself forget, that he had left her there, in that room at the inn. If Severus could, he would have gone back in time and never left her side. They could have fled to some distant country and waited for the Dark Lord to blow himself up. Lily would’ve been alive. The girl would be unmarked. Severus would not be a murderer.

It did nothing, to dwell on what could have been. He would tell Dumbledore none of this, anyway, so what did it matter?

“I am truly sorry, my friend.” Dumbledore said, his voice full of earnest and reassurance. “If there is anything I can do —”

“You can start by begging me not to hand in my letter of resignation.” Severus snapped, shoving him off.

They both knew he was bluffing, but it felt good to say out loud, to threaten Dumbledore with something that would cause literally anyone else a mite of distress, were they in his position. Severus didn’t want an apology — he wanted to forget that any of this had ever happened.

“You have threatened me with resignation many times before,” Dumbledore chuckled. “Although, I would admit that the pen is mightier than the sword.”

“I could exercise my parental rights and take the girl far away from here.” Severus said, without a trace of humor.

He thought of Lily, penning a letter to a baby she knew she might never get a chance to watch grow up. He thought of the baby, the girl, reading that letter, and the grim determination she’d carried with her ever since. Severus was still figuring out how to rid himself of Lily-things’ hope that he could ever be anything other than a distant figure, someone she might not have ever known if Potter and Lily were still alive.

“Have you decided how you want to go forward, then?” Dumbledore asked, his eyes looking straight through him.

Severus stared ahead, watching the girl turn into a dot in the distance. He could still make out Lily-things’ hair, the same color of the leaves he crushed underfoot.

“I don’t intend on breaking my promise,” said Severus.

“Your promise was to protect Lily’s daughter.” Dumbledore turned, following his gaze. It softened before turning back to him. “I would imagine that vow would mean more now more than ever.”

It did… and didn’t. Lily-thing was the last of her mother, that had not changed. What had changed was that Lily-thing was also a part of Severus. He had never planned on having children — the thought was nauseating — or to marry. He hated people, and people hated him. He wasn’t fit to be anything other than repulsive to others. The only person he’d ever considered to be any kind of partner had been Lily, and even then, he had spent years trying to rid himself of his emotions, his feelings, to cease caring about her and thinking of her. Severus couldn’t fathom that the two of them had created that girl, that she existed so effortlessly, that she carried her mother’s heart so close to her own.

“It’s… by my own actions that she’s here,” Severus said. “And it is by my own actions that she finds herself in danger.”

Dumbledore finally looked something akin to troubled. “I wanted to discuss the Quidditch match with you, my friend. I am worried that someone would try something so bold, in front of not only the staff, but the students as well.”

“That’s not all you need to be worried about.” Severus said, a feeling in his veins like ice. “The girl is being followed by… something.”

Dumbledore raised an eyebrow at him. “Something… other than you?”

Severus bit back a retort that would only lead to him brooding later on. “The girl says something is following her. Something only she can see.”

Dumbledore’s face hardened, his blue eyes clear and concentrated, like he was putting together a puzzle with no pieces. He motioned with his head, pivoting away from Lily-thing and her cronies. “Walk with me, Severus. Tell me more.”

He did, trying to keep any kind of emotion out of his voice when he did so. Emotions would convey something other than what Dumbledore already knew, and what Dumbledore knew was that Severus would protect Lily-thing at all costs. He was trying to reach inside of Severus and find a bright, shiny trophy, something that would affirm that Severus was capable of being something more than a double-agent. Lily had tried to do the same, and it had only brought the two of them misery.

“This does concern me, my boy.” Dumbledore said once Severus had finished. They’d waded into the entrance of the Forest, not entering, but lingering on the outskirts. An owl hooted somewhere nearby, a curious sound that invited them to come closer.

“As it should,” Severus said, tension building in his jaw. “since it’s only a matter of time until it’s patience wears out.”

“It cannot touch her,” Dumbledore shook his head, but his face was still set in deep thought. “Lily’s sacrifice ensured that. Tom himself wouldn’t be able to lay a hand on the child.”

“Light believes it travels the fastest, but what it forgets is that the darkness is always there to greet it.” Severus said coolly. “Lily’s sacrifice is certainly protection enough, but you forget that the Dark Lord will not stop until he has the girl.”

“It _cannot_ harm her.” Dumbledore said firmly. “Of this I am certain. I do, however, find it troublesome that only Ariel can see and hear it. Perhaps more alarming is that it believes Ariel to have something it wants.”

“What could it _possibly_ want from the girl, other than the Stone?” Severus asked, turning his attention back to the girl. He could no longer see her, a feeling that felt like panic gripping at him. He shoved it away, wanting to Hex it into nothingness, into oblivion. “And even then, Albus, she’s barely a first year. It cannot truly believe that the girl knows how to get past the trapdoor.”

Dumbledore was silent, his gaze impenetrable, but Severus could tell his mind was somewhere else. “Tom needs very little reason to believe that those he distrusts have ulterior motives. You know this better than anyone, I’m afraid.”

Severus stared at Dumbledore, stared and stared and stared until his eyes began to burn, his heart beating to an entirely new rhythm of panic. The ground beneath felt unsteady, uneven.

“The Dark Lord,” Severus felt the words sticking to his throat like spiderwebs. “could not have infiltrated the school. You said it yourself, it’s _impossible.”_

“As long as I am here, yes.” Dumbledore nodded, his blue eyes piercing. “That does not, however, eliminate the possibility that someone is working on his behalf, and is practicing the Dark Arts inside of Hogwarts.”

A thought was blossoming inside of Severus’ mind, something so vast and moving swiftly, covering everything until it was upon him. “You — you knew this all along.”

Dumbledore bowed his head. “Nicolas expressed concern, and warned me that this was a possibility. He’d been… receiving signs through dreams. Tom has been attacking his mind, since Nicolas cannot die physically. Tom wanted the Stone to not only retain his physical body, but to obtain immortality.”

_hey it’s me you want yeah_

_come and get me_

_I have to tell you something_

_something’s happening and I don’t know how to make it stop_

_make it stop_

A frantic, desperate tidal wave was building up inside of Severus, the world shimmering around the edges. “And you _still_ allowed for the Stone to be kept here?”

“Hogwarts is the safest place to keep it from Tom.” he sounded so calm, so serene, and it made Severus angrier. He could see the girl in his mind’s eye, watching her small face twist as she told him about the force that called to her, how her tiny frame trembled, but her voice stayed strong, unwavering.

“Not if the Dark Lord is _INSIDE OF THE SCHOOL!”_ Severus finally shouted, everything he’d been trying (and succeeding) at keeping at bay breaking loose, like a tidal wave. “You allowed the girl to come here _knowing_ that the Dark Lord wanted not only the Stone, but that he could murder the girl and claw his way back to a corporeal form all in one fell swoop!”

“He is not here, Severus.” Dumbledore said, and Severus could have sworn their shadows became longer, the sky darker. “He will not step foot in this school so long as I am Headmaster.”

Dumbledore’s magic fizzled in the air around him, though Severus could tell it wasn’t directed at him. He wanted the girl safe as much as Severus did, wanted to keep her out of the Dark Lord’s clutches and had done everything to ensure it. This was what they had been planning, what they’d spent countless nights combing through, ensuring that Lily-thing would be safe.

And even that had failed, ten years ago.

A breeze blew through the airs, their leaves shaking like Severus’ hands. Off in the distance, something howled, a long, wounded sound as the sun finally disappeared behind the horizon.

“I would ask that you would continue to keep an eye on Quirinus.” Dumbledore said quietly after a long period of silence. “He is the only member of the staff of whom I am not entirely certain can be trusted.”

Severus spat at the ground. “Quirrell is _spineless —”_

“Please, Severus.” Dumbledore interrupted, holding up a withered hand. “If not for my peace of mind, then for Ariel’s. She cannot be exposed to such forces.”

“She has _already_ been exposed!” Severus heard his voice rising again, but he didn’t care. “She has been stalked by this… this _thing —_ if it is the Dark Lord, surely she must leave the school!”

“The safest place for Ariel is here.” Dumbledore said sternly.

“But you _just said —”_

“It could very well be Tom’s astral projection into the school with someone’s assistance,” Dumbledore’s voice softened. “but as I said before, neither of them could hurt Ariel. I give you my word on that, Severus.”

Severus leaned against the nearest tree. He was distantly aware that he was breathing heavily, panting as he struggled to shove his anger, his fear, his panic, and all-consuming desperation back beneath the Shields of his Occlumency.

“It is touching —” Dumbledore began.

 _“Don’t,”_ Severus threw behind him. “Do _not.”_

He steadied his breathing, racking his brain for a counter argument that would disarm Dumbeldore, but he could not find one. If Lily-thing left Hogwarts, she would be terribly exposed, even with all of the Wards in the world surrounding her. The Stone needed to be taken from the school, but the idea of the Dark Lord getting his hands on it was equally as terrifying. The girl would be in even more danger, but she was _already in danger —_

There was no alternative. Dumbledore, as dense and mental and infuriatingly benign as he was in his beliefs, was right. The Dark Lord had to be discouraged, had to be stopped, but he should not be able to touch the girl. He could not. He would not. Severus would make sure of it.

Severus did not know which thought scared him more — the Dark Lord, or what could happen to that reckless child.

“The girl mentioned a poem,” Severus said, his heart heavy. “that was you, wasn’t it?”

He turned when he heard no answer. Dumbledore was gone, the only sound the wind whispering through the trees.

* * *

Ariel hurried down to her detention with one shoe untied and her rucksack unbuckled.

She wasn’t about to be late for her fake-detention when she was only six days into it. In her defense, Ariel _had_ gotten carried away with hearing about how some of the Gryffindors had taken creative liberties with the note she’d left on Malfoy’s back. He’d been giving her horrid looks all of dinner, his cutlery screeching against the plates as they ate. Ron, who seemed to be in much better spirits after eating, laughed so hard that he fell over a few times. Ariel couldn’t help but let herself forget about the Giant Smoke Monster, the Stone and Snape when Seamus reenacted Professor McGonagall showing Malfoy the note on his back after he’d tried to Hex Oliver Wood.

Snape was already waiting for her when she entered, lightly knocking on the door as she pushed into the classroom, clutching at the stitch in her side. He frowned as she walked in, trying to hide the fact that she was out of breath.

“Anything?” Snape demanded in a sharp voice.

It took Ariel a minute to figure out what he meant.

“Before… just outside the school.” she swallowed roughly. “It didn’t stick around or say anything to me, but… I saw it.”

Fury cracked across his face. “And you didn’t _tell me?”_

Her stomach dropped to her feet. The coin —

Embarrassment washed over her in thick waves, followed quickly by horror. She wasn’t even a week in, and she’d already broken her promise.

“It didn’t talk to me or anything!” Ariel said desperately. “I only saw it for a second!”

Snape began to do a remarkable impression of a fire-breathing dragon.

“I’m sorry!” Ariel said again, meaning every inch of it. “It was so fast and Ron and Hermione were with me… I didn’t want to stick around and for something to happen! We were going to dinner anyway, and then I was going straight to you. It never stays!”

“Until it did, and it started _speaking_ to you!” Snape snarled, his face white with anger.

_Tell me tell me what it said_

_Tell me_

_TELL ME_

Ariel looked away, biting her lip. “You’re right. I’m sorry.”

Her hands and feet were suddenly cold, a feeling in her heart like a riptide. She snuck a glance up at Snape, who slowly moved away, his lip curled. His eyes were bright, a fire blazing behind them.

“Foolish girl,” Snape muttered, still extremely cross, but the edge was gone. “sit down and busy yourself with whatever you fancy. You _will_ tell me next time you see or hear anything, or so help me, I _will_ have you in detention every waking moment you are not in class for the next seven years.”

“I just didn’t want them to get hurt.”

It took Ariel a minute to realize the voice that spoke was hers. Snape stared down at her, past his hooked nose and curtain of hair.

“What the hell are you talking about?” he demanded.

“Ron and Hermione,” Ariel said, swallowing the rock in her throat. “I didn’t want to tell them when I saw it in case whatever that _thing_ is got mad and came back. I don’t want them to know about it, because the more I pay attention to it, the more I see it. What if it starts bothering them?”

Snape gave her an inscrutable look. “It might have escaped your notice, but Miss Granger and Mr Weasley did not lead to the downfall of a deranged madman.”

“The Bludger could’ve hurt Hermione.”

Snape’s eyes glittered dangerously. “All the more reason for you to _think_ about your actions going forward.”

Ariel sighed, dejected and relieved. She’d half expected him to throw her out right then and there. “I will. I promise.”

Snape made a noise that sounded half-growl, half words stuck at the back of his throat. He waved flippantly at the workbench closest to the front of the room, right near the storerooms where he usually spent their detentions. Ariel dragged her feet over, throwing her rucksack on the tabletop as Snape disappeared to count ingredients or take inventory, or whatever it was he did. Ariel wanted to ask, but she felt too silly to bother Snape now.

When she found out who or what this Giant Smoke Monster was, she was going to give them a piece of her mind.

She reluctantly took out her Charms textbook and a roll of parchment, not at all in the mood to do any sort of schoolwork. Ariel couldn’t figure out how Hermione did it without complaining. She liked school too, but Hermione took it to a whole other level. She wished more than anything that she could just curl up on one of the couches in Gryffindor Tower right now and practice Fire-Making charms next to the fireplace. Neville had made the mistake of practicing in the dormitory the other night, and had nearly burnt the Tower down.

Something moved out of the corner of Ariel’s eyes, tearing her away from her thoughts. It was Snape, standing in the doorway of the storeroom with an assortment of jars in his arms, his eyes watching her closely. She wondered how long he’d been standing there.

“Is it bothering you?” Snape demanded, his eyes narrowed dangerously.

Ariel hadn’t realized it, but she’d been touching her scar. “No, it’s just… a habit. I touch it when I’m thinking.”

His reaction took her off guard. He stalked over to the front of the room, slammed down the jars, and took the lid off of the cauldron, the ginormous one at the very front of the classroom. Snape fumed into the cauldron for a moment, like something was at the bottom he wanted to kill before he noticed that Ariel was staring at him.

“Well?” Snape bit out. “Don’t you have an essay to write?”

Ariel wanted to ask him how he knew that, but when she looked down at the workbench, it was quite obvious what she was trying to do. Professor Flitwick wanted six inches on the theory of pyrokinetics in Charms by tomorrow afternoon. Luckily, that was the class that Ariel had decided to try and take detailed notes, but she wasn’t sure if she’d done a good job. She’d gotten distracted halfway through class when some of the smoke had wafted across the room, and for a heart-stopping moment she’d thought it was the Giant Smoke Monster. Needless to say, Ariel hadn’t been able to focus much after that.

Ariel studied Snape instead of working on her Charms essay. Once he started brewing, he seemed to calm down, the stiffness in his shoulders melting away. The lines in his face had faded away, his mouth set in a tight line as he concentrated. Ariel had never seen him look this way, it looked sorta… peaceful.

She stared at the notes she’d taken, unable to figure out if she’d written an _f_ or a lazy _l._ Either way, she couldn’t decipher what the bloody hell she’d written.

“What’re you brewing?” Ariel asked finally, her brain moments away from turning into mush.

“A potion.” Snape said, sounding bored. Or maybe he was trying to concentrate. Or he was still mad.

She straightened up, trying to make herself sound interested instead of desperate. “What _kind_ of potion?”

“Dreamless Sleep.” he turned, dropping some sort ofherb into the cauldron Ariel didn’t recognize. It glowed like sunlight, but it was a deep, royal purple.

Ariel perked up — she’d half expected Snape to ignore her, and they hadn’t learned anything like _that_ yet. “Are we learning that next week?”

“You’ll learn before the end of this year,” Snape’s eyes were cold and hard, like diamonds. “that is, if you pay any attention.”

Ariel gaped at him for a moment before scowling. “I always pay attention!”

Snape gave a ripping snort. “You’re too busy making Longbottom doesn’t accidentally chop off an appendage.”

“I am not! You never give me back my papers.” Ariel challenged. “What are my marks like in your class?”

“They’re not abysmal.”

“My potions always end up looking like yours!” Ariel shot back, affronted.

“Incorrect,” Snape put a Stasis charm on the potion, glaring at her. “Longbottom usually ends up butchering the preparation of the ingredients, so your final product loses some of its… potency.”

Ariel stared at him, suddenly furious. “Then why haven’t you said anything to me?”

She genuinely _liked_ Potions — it was the only class where they _made_ something every day, where she was able to turn her brain off and work on something that could be useful. Not to mention that she was doing her damndest to try and impress him. To hear that her marks had been less than stellar was incredibly disappointing… unless he was just being a giant git. _That_ wouldn’t have been surprising.

“I say all I need to in my instruction.” Snape said coolly.

“Yeah, but how am I supposed to get any better if you don’t tell me?”

“It is not a fault that lies with _you,_ Miss Evans, but with Mr Longbottom.”

“You could try being _nicer_ to him.”

“Being _nice_ won’t teach that boy anything,” Snape sneered. “He’s got to keep a level head if he’s going to brew anything without accidentally poisoning himself, or someone else.”

“He’s only a nervous wreck because he’s terrified of you!” Ariel shot back.

“There would be nothing to fear if he didn’t let his emotions get the better of him.”

Ariel fumed into her parchment. Snape was such a git — she didn’t know why it bothered her so much. He wasn’t even _nice_ when he was trying to be… well, _nice._ Snape didn’t _have_ to have these fake detentions with her, but he was certainly making it known that he wasn’t thrilled about it. Poor Neville couldn’t help being terrified of Snape when Snape went out of his way to terrorize him.

_As you wish_

When she looked up, Snape was back at concentrating on the Dreamless Sleep. His eyebrows were furrowed now, not in concentration anymore, but like he was thinking about something deeply regretful.

Her anger fizzled away. She thought of the woman in the mirror, in her dreams, because now, she had the same feeling she did when she woke up. It was a feeling that ran through her fingers like sand, so close to touching, but small and undefined, unable to be given a name.

“Can I… have some, do you think?” Ariel blurted out. “Of the Dreamless Sleep?”

Snape’s eyes shot to hers, narrowed in suspicion. _“Why?”_

Ariel bit her lip, wondering if she should tell him or not. She _did_ trust him, despite Ron’s claims. He was her father, and even if he didn’t like it, he’d felt _some_ obligation to protect her because of Mum. He’d saved her from the Giant Smoke Monster, the Bludger, and the Dursleys… surely Ariel could tell him about some weird dreams, right?

She sucked in a deep breath. “I’ve been having weird dreams that wake me up. I can’t go back to sleep after.”

Snape didn’t look at her, but his head tilted. “You can have some once you learn how to brew it.”

Ariel blinked at him. “But you said we won’t learn it until the end of the year!”

“Then I guess you’ll have to wait.”

She wanted to throw her quill at him. She’d thrown things at Dudley when he’d made her angry, knowing it would incur Aunt Petunia’s wrath. Something told her that if she threw something at Snape, she’d have bigger things to worry about than the Giant Smoke Monster.

Instead, Ariel picked up her quill and began scratching away at the parchment. She didn’t write anything in particular, but made sure the sound was loud enough that it was audible. She swung her feet back and forth so that her boots skimmed the stone floor, making a _scratchscratchscratch_ sound as they brushed the floor.

Ariel knew when Snape’s eyes were on her, because she could feel the temperature in the room drop.

That’s when she began to hum — she didn’t know many songs, but Lavender and Parvarti played this one song by the Weird Sisters over and over again, only Ariel couldn’t remember the chorus, which meant she was making half of it up. If Snape caught on to _that,_ he didn’t make it known, but after about thirty seconds of the writing and the scratching and the humming, he snapped.

“For the love of —” Snape gave an exasperated sigh. “If you insist on imposing yourself upon me, then you might as well make yourself useful.”

She bit back a smile. “How?”

Snape glowered at her. “I’m assuming your risible study habits stem from the desire to watch me brew.”

“Just a little.”

“Then you’ll assist me.” Snape beckoned her forward with his index finger. Ariel tried to contain the bubble of excitement that grew inside her chest, quickly making her way to his side, beside the cauldron. She quickly realized that there was going to be a problem, as she was half a head shorter than the cauldron.

Snape wordlessly Summoned a stool, jerking his head at Ariel to step up. Her face went as red as her hair. She was the shortest girl in her year, which made her the shortest girl in school, and she hated it. Pansy looked like she wanted to step on her, sometimes, and as much as Ariel couldn’t stand the thought, if it came down to it, Pansy would win in a fist-fight, no question.

(She thought about punching Pansy in the face, a _lot)_

“Thanks,” Ariel mumbled.

Snape didn’t say anything. Instead, her handed her a vial of something red that looked a whole lot like —

Ariel stood on her tip-toes and gazed down into the cauldron. It was a murky grey, steam rising up the bubbles as it hissed back at her. “Why do you need _blood?”_

“It’s dragon’s blood,” Snape said, leaning over the cauldron.

She perked up. “Ron’s brother Charlie works with dragons!”

“Fascinating.” Snape said, as if it were anything but.

“Did you have him? As a student, I mean.”

“I’ve had the displeasure of teaching _all_ of the Weasleys.”

Ariel frowned. “You don’t like them?”

“Why someone would want _that_ many children is beyond me,” said Snape, his eyes focused on the cauldron. _“Especially_ after those horrid twins.”

“I think they’re wonderful.” Ariel said, very matter-of-factly.

“I never said anything about how _wonderful_ they are, Miss Evans, only that they’ve had an annoying amount of children.”

Ariel wanted to point out that he was in charge of _hundreds_ of children, seeing as Snape was Slytherin’s Head of House, but decided against it. He’d probably ground her into potion’s ingredients, or worse, just drop her in the cauldron right then and there.

“The dragon’s blood is quite unstable,” Snape said. “It will need to go in last.”

“What happens if it goes in too early?” Ariel asked, her curiosity piqued.

“It will have the opposite effect — instead of a restful sleep, the person ingesting it will find themselves unable to do so.”

Well that sounded… unpleasant. “Oh… for how long?”

“If you were to add in the dragon’s blood now, it would be about a week, but by that point, the ingestor would have descended into madness.”

Ariel grimaced. “So how do you know when to put it in?”

Snape quirked an eyebrow at her. “I’ve just added the lavender extract — you tell me.”

It took Ariel a minute to register that he was being _Professor_ Snape. She stifled the urge to roll her eyes. “Well, you said in class that lavender disintegrates quickly… so you’d need to put that in as the base, right?”

He gave a short nod. “And what properties does lavender possess?”

Ariel pondered this for a moment. “It’s supposed to reduce stress and anxiety, isn’t it? It makes you calm.”

“Dragon’s blood is quite potent in it’s own properties.” Snape said, without telling Ariel if she’d been right or wrong. She assumed she was, because he wasn’t calling her a dunderhead. “It allows for the base ingredients’ abilities to be heightened, leading to a dreamless sleep rather than just making the ingestor drowsy.” 

“Cool,” she muttered, mostly to herself. When she peered back up at Snape, he had a peculiar expression on his face. “So, once the lavender disintegrates, I can add in the dragon’s blood?”

Snape gave another quick nod, but Ariel could sense that something was… off. He was staring at her strangely, like she’d sprouted a second head and he was trying to remain calm. Ariel wondered what she’d said, but she didn’t really care. All that mattered was that he was allowing her to brew a Potion with him, a Potion that they hadn’t learned yet, and that would help her sleep tonight.

“Was Mum good at Potions?” Ariel asked quietly.

Snape made a strange sound, like all the air was being sucked out of him with a vacuum. “She had a knack for them — Charms were her area of expertise.”

“Professor Flitwick said she wanted to be a Healer.”

He didn’t say anything to that. Instead, he glanced back down at the cauldron. “You may add the dragon’s blood now. Pour it in _slowly_ so that the potion has time to absorb it.”

Ariel nodded jerkily and did as she was told. When she looked up, waiting for Snape to say something in approval, she found him turned away from her, his back hunched like he was trying to disappear into himself. It looked like an incredibly private moment, one Ariel didn’t dare try to break him from.

He didn’t move as Ariel hopped off the stool and set the empty vial down beside him. She was about to ask if he was okay when his eyes darted to hers, bright and glittering, but cold. Ariel could feel their iciness against the goosebumps on her skin.

She wordlessly went back to her workbench and pretended to work on her essay, trying to figure out what she’d done, but some small voice in the back of her head told her it wasn’t her. It did not tug at some great sadness inside of her, the same sadness that had lulled her to sleep after Halloween.

It would never be about her, because to Snape, it would always be about Mum.

Snape’s hand was suddenly in front of her face. Ariel peered up at him warily, but his face was blank.

“Come,” he said. “It's nearly curfew.”

Snape moved past her, but as Ariel went to pack up her things, she saw what he’d left behind. It was a vial of Dreamless Sleep, along with instructions. Ariel ripped the bottom part of the parchment and quickly scribbled _thank you_ at the bottom, placing it where the vial had been. Something told Ariel that Snape wouldn’t acknowledge her saying it to him, but that he would read her words and understand.

Just like Mum’s letter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I know literally nothing about potions/chemistry, so if you think I made up everything about the potion, you are correct! I tried to do some research into what canonically would make sense, but alas, the fictional world of Harry Potter wiki has failed me. 
> 
> Thank you for the outpouring of reviews last chapter, they mean the world. If you could leave a review on this one, I would greatly appreciate it :,) 
> 
> Until next time! xx 


	14. man in the mirror

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Previously: Snape is trying his damndest to navigate not-caring about a child that he's dedicated to protect, but Ariel has other ideas. Now that Christmas has arrived, there are forces at play that will force them to face certain truths... whether they like it or not.

Ariel had always loved the idea of Christmas from afar, but to finally have the opportunity to be a part of it warmed her all the way down to her toes.

Hogwarts had immediately struck Ariel as beautiful the very first time she saw it, but the day that Hagrid began to drag those giant evergreen trees into the Great Hall momentarily distracted her from the whole Stone business and the Giant Smoke Monster. She wasn’t going back to Privet Drive, leaving her with the hope that this could quite possibly be the very first and very best Christmas she’d ever had.

The trio had tried throwing themselves into research as the days grew longer and colder after Hagrid had let it slip about a man named Nicolas Flamel. They hadn’t been able to find anything further on the Stone itself, but there had been little time for the three of them to do any sort of investigating, even with them spending all their free time in the library. Their professors had been piling work on them left and right, so much so that Ariel was beginning to feel _grateful_ that Snape made her do homework during their fake-detentions. Ariel couldn’t focus in Gryffindor Tower, even if it was just her and Hermione in the dorm.

As the smell of pine and holly wafted through the halls of the castle, Ariel and the twins had set to booby trapping Christmas decorations in retaliation for Malfoy’s no show the night they’d run into the three headed dog, and for being a terrible prat. They had begun to lose count of just how many times they’d caught Malfoy off guard, delighting in the shows that had left their stomachs sore with raucous laughter. Among Ariel’s personal favorites were the exploding mistletoe that had given Malfoy large, itchy boils on his forehead, enchanted snowballs that continually flung themselves at the back of his neck, and Charming the gel he used to slick back his hair to smell like actual reindeer.

Hermione was going home for the holidays, and Ariel had tried her very best to conceal how disappointed she was about this. Ron was staying behind since his parents were going to visit Charlie in Egypt with Ginny, which brought her some comfort, because it meant that Fred and George would be sticking around too.

“Promise me you’ll write,” Ariel very nearly demanded as she hugged Hermione close. “I’m sure Hedwig will appreciate all the time to spread her wings.”

“I will, I’ll let you know the second I find anything about Flamel.” Hermione grinned, half her face covered by her winter hat. It flattened the top half of her head, making the ends stick out like she’d been electrocuted. Malfoy sniggered as he passed by.

Ariel threw him a horrible look. “I’m pretty sure no one will miss _him.”_

“Careful, Red Cap,” Malfoy snapped. “At least _my_ family wants _me.”_

Ariel threw a Stinging Hex at him. Ron beamed with pride, while Hermione hurried them away, just as the Slytherin Prefect began walking over to investigate.

“You two have to promise not to get into trouble,” she said in her Bossiest Voice. “If I come back and you’ve lost all our House points, I’ll be very cross.”

“Pinky promise,” Ariel smirked, crossing her fingers behind her back so that Ron could see, but linked her pinky with Hermione’s.

“Honestly,” Hermione rolled her eyes. “It’s a good thing the Slytherins are all leaving. You two wouldn’t last five minutes with all this free time.”

“We’ll be looking for more on the Stone too, you know.” Ron said, crossing his arms. “We’ve got _way_ more of a chance than you do, unless maybe your parents know something?”

“Highly unlikely,” Hermione snorted. “they’re dentists.”

Once classes had finished for term, Ariel settled into a new pattern of lounging about with Ron, waiting for the holidays to officially arrive. Lavender and Parvarti had given Ariel a catalog to go through, where you could send in a money order and the gifts would be delivered to you. Luckily, Ariel had taken a pouch of galleons from Gringotts when she’d gone with Hagrid, and so she’d done her Christmas shopping all in one go. Hedwig, however, did not seem too pleased with the journey, and had sulked for a full two days before allowing Ariel to get anywhere near her. She wondered if the journey all the way to Hermione’s would get the same reaction, but Hedwig liked Hermione a great deal, so maybe it wouldn’t be as much of a bother.

For Ron, Ariel had gotten him his own chess set, and for Hermione, enchanted friendship bracelets. They were supposed to change colors based on how the other was feeling, which Ariel quite liked the idea of. She found it hard sometimes to tell Hermione how she was feeling, like she couldn’t make the words come out. Even alone, practicing in front of a bathroom mirror, Ariel couldn’t force herself to say certain things out loud to Hermione, and she didn’t know why.

Ariel and Ron had the dormitory to themselves as Christmas crept up on them, and Ron had been teaching her how to play wizard’s chess. She wasn’t bad at it, but she got annoyed very easily when the players began to shout their two-sense at her. Ron had sheepishly tried to explain that they’d calm down once she got the hang of it, but Ariel couldn’t imagine playing a game with chess pieces she wanted to step on.

On Christmas Eve, Ariel settled into her bed, glancing over at her nightstand. Beside it was a vial of Dreamless Sleep Snape had given her two days prior. She bit her lip, wondering if she should try and sleep without it tonight.

She stared at it before turning off the lights with her wand. The next day was Christmas — sleepless nights were bound to be rampant tonight, anyway.

* * *

A sound like rainwater filled up the space, the sound crushing everything in its path.

It could not be called a scream, or a howl, or even humanlike at all, because for one to make such sounds, one would have to possess something corporeal, and this was not the case. To have nothing left was one thing, but to have what was _yours,_ what was _rightfully taken_ from those far below was another. It would have it all back, and then some.

It would have that child.

And it _burned_ that she was so close, just behind a door that could not see, a door with eyes that could not see him as he was, as he was no longer, and knew what it _really_ was, what _he_ should have been. However long It tried, it counted every single second, because every second It tried, it would make that girl suffer for it.

Until He appeared.

It did not hear him, It did not even turn to see. He was suddenly there, beside the door, his blue eyes glowing in the dark. They did not see it, but stared straight through it, through it’s Nothingness and Malice, through to the other side, where He wanted it to go.

The sound lit up the space, and He stared calmly back at it, as if He could not really see It, as no one else could. It was so different from the girl that It felt something akin to fear, because He looked at him with indifference.

“Go, Tom,” He said.

The sound shattered the air, and It was gone, but not without one final thought.

It would have that girl

and that letter

if it was the last thing

It did.

* * *

Ariel awoke with a jolt.

Her scar was burning, like she’d been brandished with Lavender’s curling iron. She rubbed at it as the pain subsided, her breathing heavy.

That voice… in her dream… she’d heard it before, but it was only that — a dream. It couldn’t harm her, because it wasn’t real. Ariel sighed, rolling over to look at her clock — it was almost seven in the morning. She glanced out the window, the skies grey, frost coating the window.

Lavender had offered to help Ariel string up the fairy lights again after Ariel had apologized to her, and they’d ended up decorating the entire dorm with them. Their soft light covered her as she scrubbed the sleep from her eyes, when something caught her eye.

There were _presents_ at the end of her bed.

Ariel catapulted out of her sheets, the dream long forgotten, and scrambled over to the pile. There was more than one parcel, she realized, something bright blossoming in her chest. She eagerly bent over and began opening them, the first one from Hagrid. It was a wooden flute, and when she blew into it, it sounded like some sort of bird. She wondered if it was meant for Hedwig, but quickly set it aside and reached for the next one.

Hermione had sent her a giant box of chocolate frogs, along with a set of headbands and barrettes. Ariel flew into the bathroom to try them out, the headband smoothing her hair back so that it didn’t look so… crooked anymore. She grinned, wishing Hermione was here so that she could hug her and tell her how much she loved them. It felt silly to care about her hair so much, but Ariel couldn’t help but envy Lavender and Parvarti, who could choose to wear their hair up or down or pulled back or all-natural. She would’ve killed to have _that_ to complain about.

The next gift was from Mrs Weasley, who’d sent Ariel a hand-knitted jumper in emerald green. It was twice the size of her, but it was soft, just like the mittens Mrs Weasley had sent her. There was a giant _A_ in the center, along with some homemade fudge. She’s also left a note that told Ariel to write soon, and that they’d love to have her return for the summer again. That would’ve been the best present of all, until she saw one last package without a card or note attached to it.

It was a cloak, from the looks of it, a silvery gray that almost seemed to twinkle beneath the fairy lights. It reminded Ariel of the doe she’d seen, almost, the day Snape had taken her into the floating room. For a moment, she wondered if this cloak could be from him, as she wrapped it around herself, but quickly brushed it off. Snape probably hated Christmas, like he hated everything.

Ariel wondered if anyone had bothered to get him a present.

And then she looked down, and found that the entire lower half of her body was missing.

Ariel let out a yell, immediately reaching down to make sure she hadn’t magicked away her legs. Luckily they were still there, but when she turned around to look in Lavender’s mirror, all she could see was her floating head. The cloak had made her _invisible._

“What the —” Ariel said aloud, letting the Cloak drop to her feet, her body reappearing. _“Cool.”_

That was when she saw the note floating to the ground. Ariel picked it up, squinting at the tight, neat handwriting. It looked so familiar…

_James left this in my possession before he died. It is time it was returned to you. Use it well. A Very Merry Christmas to you, my dear girl._

This was… her dad’s? James? Or rather — well, Ariel guessed her was really her step-father, if she were going to put things in proper terms. More important, who the heck had sent this to her? She didn’t know anyone who was a witch or wizard outside of Hogwarts, and it seemed unlikely to have come from a student…

She wished Hermione were here to see. She probably would’ve said something like _“you could get into a lot of trouble with this,”_ and then thought of something brilliant, like sneaking into the Slytherin dorms to prank Malfoy. No… that was more Ron’s style. _He_ would definitely appreciate it.

Ariel grinned, rushing down the stairs and into the Common Room, where Ron was already waiting.

“Merry Christmas!” he said, turning pink when he saw Ariel’s new jumper. “I see Mum sent you a Weasley sweater, I told her you weren’t expecting presents and I guess she got carried away. We get one every year.”

“I love it,” Ariel said, grinning. “Look what _else_ I got.”

She put on the Cloak, lifting the hood so that she disappeared completely. Ron gaped at her.

“Where in Merlin’s name did you get _that?”_ he bleated. “Those are super rare, and _really_ valuable!”

“I have no idea,” Ariel dropped the hood. “There was a note, but it didn’t say who it was from, only that it belonged to my dad.”

Ron’s mouth stretched into a smile. “Well, someone’s looking out for you then, mate. You can hide from death itself, with that Cloak.”

Ariel snorted. “I’ve definitely got an idea or two.”

She’d spent the day eating food that was so rich that she’d surely never eat again, and engaged in a snowball battle royale that had taken up the entire afternoon. Fred and George had enchanted the snowballs to make themselves and fire back at Ariel and Ron relentlessly, until Hagrid showed up and built them a snow-wall that quickly thwarted the twins’ efforts. She could’ve sworn she saw Snape watching from the entrance, but unfortunately, that was the exact moment George had clocked in the face with a snowball. When Ariel had wiped it from her eyes, he was gone.

Later that evening, Ariel and Ron were cozied up in Gryffindor Tower. Ron had convinced Ariel to play a game of chess with him while Ariel tried to defrost her toes beside the fire. Her ears still burned from the cold, but she didn’t care. Ariel hadn’t been this happy since she’d first come to Hogwats.

“My wee bonnie lass,” George called from across the room. “come hither!”

Ariel turned to find the twins looking vaguely suspicious, crowded together by one of the windows with something tucked behind their back.

“Our mischief making efforts have proven to be a great aide to you.” Fred said, bowing deeply as she made her way over.

“It’s Christmas,” Ariel said, sliding across the floor in her socks. “don’t you two ever take a day off?”

Fred beckoned her over with a crooked finger. “My young apprentice, you have much to learn.”

“Do you promise?” Ariel smirked.

“Cross my heart,” said Fred.

“And hope to die.” finished George.

“Never,” Ariel punched George lightly in the arm. “What did you want to show me?”

“We ‘ _found’_ this in Filch’s office,” said George with a wink. “it had your name on it.”

“We’ve gone through great peril to rescue this artifact.”

Curious, Ariel cocked her head up at them. “What do you mean? He didn’t take anything from me. At least, I don’t _think_ he did.”

“Well, it had your name on it,” George shrugged. “Either way, _someone_ wanted you to have it. We were just the middle-men.”

He handed her an old book, bound together with leather and withered with age. She didn’t recognize it, but she racked her brain, trying to remember if this was one of the poetry books she’d taken out, or the one Snape had confiscated — it couldn’t have been, because that book had been returned to the library. Hermione and her had gone looking for it a few weeks ago.

Ariel blinked up at them. “I never took out this book.”

“All the more reason to take it,” said Fred, slinging his arm around her shoulder. “Filch’s office is the eighth wonder of the world, you know. Snagging anything out of there is no small feat.”

Ariel’s heart skipped a beat. “Well, thank you. You really shouldn’t have. I mean, you think _I_ have it bad with Snape for weeks and weeks, but you two would’ve been scrubbing bedpans or giving Mrs Norris a bath or something.”

Fred shuddered. “She’s got a point there, George-o.”

“Ah, well,” George slung an arm around Fred’s shoulder. “What Filch doesn’t know won’t kill him.”

Ariel agreed, thanking them for their service, and plopped the book open in front of the fire. Ron had started arguing with his king, who was vehemently opposing the idea of letting Ariel play with him again after last round. She rolled her eyes and returned her attention to the mystery book. It was more poetry, but nothing about the wanderer from what Ariel could tell. It was all in French, the pages yellowed with age and water damage, it looked like. Ariel slammed the book closed, glaring down at it, as if it would sense her frustration and start spilling out all its secrets. She filed “talking books,” into her Great Magical Ideas folder, right next to “Voldemort vaporizer.”

Then she turned the page, familiar handwriting scrawled across the pages — two _very_ familiar —

 _This is nauseating,_ wrote the first set of handwriting, letters she saw scrawled across a chalkboard every week.

 _It’s a bit overdone,_ wrote the second, not at all uneven and slanted, but neat and precise. _I think you’re being too harsh._

_Isn’t the whole point of being a critic to be harsh?_

_Not if you’re going to be a prat, you arse_

_I_ am _more objective than you are_

_Or this one just hits a little too close to home_

There were pages and pages of this — their words and conversations coating the pages. Ariel fell back onto the sofa, unable to tear her eyes away from this tangible _proof_ that Snape and Mum had been friends, had known each other and _teased_ each other. Snape having any sort of friend was such an odd thought, and yet, here it was, right in front of Ariel’s eyes.

Ariel wondered how they’d done it without Madam Pince getting them expelled. How had she missed this one? And more importantly, who had put her _name_ on it and left it in Filch’s office? It couldn’t have been Snape, then who?

And what the heck was she supposed to _do_ with it?

Ariel considered this for a moment or two, staring into the fire. A thought blossomed, just below her ribs. She clutched the book tightly to her chest and ran upstairs, digging under her four-poster for the last of the wrapping and tissue paper she’d used for Hermione and Ron’s gifts. Ariel managed to wrap the book in a few layers of tissue paper, sticking it together with tape she’d found in Lavender’s trunk, and ran back down the stairs.

Luckily, Ariel was right on time for her detention. She never knew what version of Snape she was going to get, but she’d steadily realized that even if Snape didn’t like her much, he did at least think she was a half-decent brewer. He made _(asked in a Snapely way)_ Ariel assist him with potions if she wasn’t saddled with homework, and Ariel wasn’t about to turn down any opportunities to work with him, to ask him questions about stuff, even if it was just to have conversations. Ariel still couldn’t read him though— if Snape was a book, he would’ve been an ancient tomb where the words were written in invisible ink.

She rushed down to the dungeons, which seemed brighter than usual. That was the thing about Christmas — it was bound to make even the creepiest of places better. Or maybe it was just the fact that Malfoy and Pansy were gone. Ariel would’ve given up a lifetime of Christmas presents if it meant they stayed away.

Once Ariel was outside of Snape’s classroom, she rapped at the door. Usually, Snape called _“enter,”_ and she would, but instead, the door jerked open, making Ariel jump in surprise. Snape was towering over her, like he’d been waiting, his face smooth, but eyes glittering. He was Professor Snape — he did the same exact thing when he let the Gryffindors and Slytherins in for Potions.

“Hello,” Ariel said, hiding the book behind her back.

Snape stared down at her. “You have tissue paper in your hair.”

Ariel inspected the ends of her hair, which now came down to just above her shoulders. She plucked out a piece just as the door slammed shut in her face.

She glared up at the door, and knocked again. The door flew open, the light emanating from inside of Snape’s office creating jagged lines across his face.

 _“What?”_ Snape ground out.

“Can I come in?” Ariel asked, trying to peer around him.

His lip curled, but she noticed that his shoulders sagged, like he’d been expecting this. “No, Miss Evans, you may _not.”_

She frowned. “But we have our detention tonight.”

“It’s Christmas.” Snape said. “The staff would crucify me if they found that I had a student scrubbing cauldrons.”

Ron had said almost the exact same thing to her this morning, during breakfast. For some reason, Ariel found this to be hysterically funny, but bit her tongue to keep from laughing.

“What if the…” Ariel looked around warily, leaning in closer. “What if you-know-what shows up?”

His eyes narrowed dangerously. _“Has_ it?”

“No,” Ariel shook her head. “Not since last time —”

“Then consider this my Christmas present to you.” Snape said shortly, and then slammed the door shut again.

Ariel huffed, scowling up at the door. She considered throwing a Hex at the door, but she was almost certain that Snape’s door was probably Cursed so that it ate students that tried to break in. That was what some of the Ravenclaw students had theorized, anyway.

She knocked again, and waited a few seconds. There was no answer.

“There could be a minotaur down here, and you’ve just locked me out of your classroom.” Ariel called loudly, tapping her foot impatiently. “That wasn’t what you _promised.”_

The door nearly swung off its hinges this time. His face was menacingly biting in the torchlight, his teeth bared down at her, and Ariel could tell that he was milliseconds away from laying into her, or docking Gryffindor ten trillion points, but luckily, she spoke first.

“I have something for you,” Ariel said. “An _actual_ Christmas present.”

Snape's face quickly twisted, like his face was inverting in on itself.

“Here,” Ariel held the book out to him. “I found this and… well, I thought you’d might like it.”

Snape stared down at the book like she was presenting him with some of Hagrid’s compost heap.

“Go ahead,” she nodded her head down at it. “I’ll leave after, if you want. I swear.”

The book was in her outstretched hand one second, and gone the next. It took Ariel a minute to realize that she’d been plunged into darkness too, the force of the door slamming shut causing the torches besides Snape’s door to go out.

“You’re _welcome,”_ Ariel muttered. “Merry Christmas to you _too.”_

She half expected the door to come flying off the wall and mow her down, but the corridor stayed silent. Ariel shivered, wrapping her cloak around her as she walked away, wondering what she had done to get such a reaction from Snape. He was so bloody _weird_ all the time. Just when she thought she had him figured out, he did something like this. He was about as tangible as Nicholas Flamel, sometimes.

Ariel stopped. Something was coming together inside of her brain, something terrible and brilliant and very… _Slytherin_ of her.

She bit back a smile, and broke into a jog.

* * *

Snape usually enjoyed Christmas, because it meant that everyone left him the fuck alone.

He had the house elves fill the staff member’s stockings up with coal in the staff room, which Dumbledore found amusing, but the rest of them seemed to find it rather confusing, if they weren’t outright insulted. Luckily, after years of doing it, Severus no longer received passive aggressive mentions of it at breakfast the morning after, which alleviated the pressure to actually buy them gifts. Severus would’ve rather ripped out his own fingernails than buy any of his colleagues a _present._ That meant he had to exert large measures of _thoughtfulness,_ which was reprehensible.

Lily-thing had, of course, trounced over this tradition by giving him a gift. Not only had she privately sought him out to hand deliver it, but Lily-thing had clearly recognized whose handwriting was littered throughout the book, had read through the conversations and decided that she wanted to _share it_ with him. Severus had thrown it in the fireplace, Pince be damned. He’d Hex her into next Thursday if she tried to give him any fucking grief about it.

_that wasn’t what you promised_

_I found this and I thought you might like it_

After Lily-thing had gone, Severus had spent the better half of the hour with a cold compress on his head, trying to stop his hands from shaking. The girl hadn’t mentioned Lily in weeks, so for her to present him with tangible _proof_ of their friendship, their old antics memorialized on paper was — it was —

Severus needed to get rid of this — _whatever_ this _feeling_ was. It felt like panic, but it manifested differently, like he was set to a different frequency somehow. This was how he decided to go and interrogate Quirrell. He’d already had at him a few days prior, but it _was_ Christmas, after all, and if Severus was going to try and take him by surprise, this was the night for it.

It was well after curfew now, the shadows long and still in the corridors. Severus kept his eyes sharp, looking for any signs of anything unusual. Lily-thing hadn’t mentioned the darkness in nearly two weeks, which meant that she was overdue for a visit. He’d been keeping track, and it seemed to be happening in twelve day intervals. He didn’t know what it meant — nothing in the books he’d been scouring had anything like it, unless it pertained to some sort of spirit attachment. If that were the case, however, Lily-thing wouldn’t be the only one seeing it.

It only made Severus more frustrated, more fearful. If even Dumbledore couldn’t pinpoint what was after the girl… there was no telling how or when this would end.

Severus screeched to a halt when he felt the pocket watch in his trousers vibrate. It was Charmed to do so if Lily-thing left Gryffindor Tower after curfew — when she wasn’t _supposed_ to.

_it’s just a stupid theory_

_prove it_

Severus’ mind wandered to the girl, who _should_ have been fast asleep in her Tower. She’d looked like she was wearing the bloody scarlet letter this morning, in that horrendous Weasley sweater that fit her like it was trying to eat her. It had matched the color of Lily’s eyes. He thought of her daughter’s wide, excited eyes as she’d drunk in the Great Hall, and how he’d started when he’d heard her laughter. He’d never heard it before.

Severus rounded the corner, the pocket watch hot against the palm of his hand. When he looked down at it, it read, _“Restricted Section.”_

Something hot and piercing when down his throat. He was going to throttle that harebrained little _FOOL._

_something wouldn’t stop saying my name_

Severus charged in the direction of the library, the entirety of Gryffindor’s points on his lips. Panic clawed up his sternum, desperate and wild, that he did not notice when he broke into a run. What the hell was she _thinking?_ Was it childish revenge for denying her the detention? Or outright, blatant defiance?

There was something seriously wrong with that girl if she was rebelling because he had denied her the burden of spending _time_ with him.

He threw open the library’s doors, dust dancing in the undisturbed air in front of him. Moonlight glinted through the windows, the only source of light in the vast expanse of a room. Severus took an uncertain step forward, quickly lighting the end of his wand with a silent _Lumos._ He marched forward, surveying the rows of tables and chairs, before turning his attention towards the lines of bookcases.

A scream echoed through the room, bouncing off the walls in all directions. Severus whirled around, taking off in the direction of the sound — the Restricted Section. When he got there, however, he found it empty, a single book strewn across the ground. Some little, annoying voice in the back of his head told him that if Pince or Granger were to uncover the scene, they would have likely reported a homicide. Severus picked it up — _A Hist’ry of Blood Charm._ The shriek would’ve come from the book, since _this_ kind of literature required a blood sacrifice to be read, but what would the brat need with _this?_

Unless… Lily-thing was looking for something she shouldn’t have.

There was no girl attached to the book. How had she slipped past without Severus seeing her?

“Point me,” Severus hissed down at the watch.

Severus heard her footsteps, then, heard them move father and farther away, and the pocket watch vibrated against his hand again.

_Corridor_

Why that _little —_

Severus took off, throwing the book to the ground as he tore past the bookcases and out of the library. He paused to listen, but there was no sound, no voice, no sign of life.

He stared down at the pocket watch.

_Corridor_

“Which _one?”_ Severus snarled.

_Library_

He whirled around, expecting Lily-thing to be directly behind him, but there was nothing. Furious, he stormed farther down the corridor, scouring the walls for any sign of Lily-thing, for any crevice she could’ve wormed herself into, but there was none. She was going to have far worse to worry about than a _minotaur_ when Severus was through with her. He was going to make her regret ever breaking a fucking _promise._

_Wide, panicked eyes staring at him over the bustle of the Great Hall_

_it’s me you want come and get me_

_I never should have let you see_

_I have something for you_

Severus stopped when he heard them again — footsteps, retreating in the opposite direction.

Footsteps, but no girl.

He was going to mangle her into a pretzel when he got his hands on her. Lily-thing couldn’t have possibly taught herself a Disillusionment charm — she was far too young, and the magic too complex, too mature for her — so how the sodding fuck was she concealing herself?

The pocket watch vibrated once more.

_First floor staircase_

Severus bared down, and followed.

* * *

Snape was still hot on Ariel’s trail — how the heck was he _doing_ it? He hadn’t called out for her, and he wasn’t gaining speed. Maybe he had Student Out of Bed radar… _that_ seemed that a magical invention _he_ would come up with.

It shouldn’t have surprised Ariel that even with an Invisibility Cloak, Snape _still_ would’ve figured out a way to find out she was breaking curfew. This did, however, make her infinitely more thankful for her stepfather’s cloak, which despite Snape knowing her general location, kept him from actually _seeing_ her and sentencing her to _real_ detention (or a fate worse than death).

Ariel stopped behind a stone pillar and took off her boots, the floor freezing beneath her feet, even with socks. She’d be more quiet that way, even if her toes got frostbite. All she’d wanted was a stupid book about Nicholas Flamel, and had somehow ended up with a book screaming in her face. This thought bothered her more than it should have. If books _could_ talk, why couldn’t they _all_ and make her life easier? Although screaming wasn’t really talking, Ariel supposed, but it was a _really_ good way to let professors know you were doing something you shouldn’t have been.

She swerved into an empty corridor and pressed herself against the wall, holding her breath until she was clear, but Snape kept popping up at the end of the stupid hallway. He’d come charging down like death on the warpath, and Ariel would scamper ahead of him until they repeated this process all over again. It was becoming exhausting, and Snape seemed to be getting angrier and angrier. He started to resemble a minotaur after the fourth pit-stop, his breathing labored, clouding the air in front of him. Ariel could see his hands shaking. She just needed to get back up to Gryffindor Tower — if Snape accused her of anything, she’d play dumb, and he wouldn’t have a _complete_ fit.

The hallway-tactic didn’t seem to be working. As Snape barreled up and down the corridor, checking something in his hand Ariel couldn’t see, she racked her brain on a way to ditch him. She wished Hermione was here more than ever, wishing she was with her, underneath the cloak. Hermione would’ve whispered something brilliant ino Arie’s ear, and they could’ve been halfway to Gryffindor Tower by now.

Ariel surveyed her options. There was a classroom to her left with a door cracked open. This was the first instance she could think of where she was actually _thankful_ for being so small, because as she eyed the opening, Ariel knew she could probably squeeze through without Snape hearing a thing.

She craned her head to see where Snape was. _Perfect,_ she thought to herself — he was at the other end of the corridor and hadn’t pivoted yet. Ariel tiptoed sideways, carefully not to make a sound as she slid through the door, ducking into the classroom.

It was unused, it seemed, the desks and chairs pushed up against the far back wall. Wads of balled up parchment littered the floor, cobwebs clogged up the corners. Ron would’ve taken one look into this room and left — he _hated_ spiders. Between the cobwebs, on the wall adjacent from the cluttered furniture, was a mirror. It was huge, at least four times the size of her, with a phrase carved at the very top. She squinted up at it, edging closer to the mirror to look, when —

Ariel nearly screamed when she looked up into the glass, because Snape was standing RIGHT BEHIND HER —

Only it wasn’t just Snape. Someone else was there too. It was a woman with wine red hair, just like Ariel’s, and bright green eyes. Ariel knew that face. She could’ve picked it out of a crowd of ten thousand people, if she had to. She whirled around, desperate to see the woman standing behind her, just within her reach, but the room stayed empty, except maybe for the spiders for company.

Ariel slowly turned back towards the Mirror. The woman and Snape were there, like they existed just beyond the glass.

“Mum?” Ariel whispered, her voice cracking. “Mummy?”

Mum smiled, and it looked like her heart was breaking. Ariel turned again, but there was nothing but air behind her, nothing but dust and shadows and pale moonlight filtering in through the windows, casting uneven lines against the vaulted ceiling.

“How…” Ariel whispered. “how are you here?”

Mum didn’t say anything, she just smiled and nodded. Confused, Ariel looked back up to Snape, but he wasn’t fuming down at her in homicidal rage like he should have been. Instead, his face was calm — not shining with hunger and joy like Mum’s — but it was reserved enough that Ariel could tell he was… content.

Ariel pressed her hand up against the mirror. Mum did the same.

She did not try to stay quiet as she wept.

* * *

Severus was seriously considering breaking his oath to Dumbledore in swearing he would never practice Dark Magics until the Dark Lord rose when he saw the door at the end of the corridor sway. It moved only slightly, but it caught Severus’ gaze like a hound catching the scent of a rabbit.

The door twitched, like someone had just brushed past it. Severus locked onto it, barreling forward. There was nowhere for Lily-thing to run _now,_ not with him standing between the only exit and her escape.

_find her where was she why couldn’t he SEE HER_

He shoved the door open with his shoulder, his hands outstretched to grab the girl, when the moonlight glinted off of something to his left.

Severus froze, his body seizing up like he’d been locked in a Body-Bind. He’d forgotten what was being kept in here, had been _so_ careful that he’d gone to incredible lengths to make sure he did not so much as pass by it, knowing he could not withstand the temptation… that he’d be able to see Lily again, and that he would not be able to stay away once he did.

The Mirror taunted him from across the room, its ornate frame sparkling. Severus had nearly forgotten about Lily-thing when she saw her melt back into existence, like she was peeling herself out of thin air.

The Invisibility cloak pooled around her feet like a puddle.

He’d known Potter had it, but had never actually caught him with it before. Lily had mentioned it in passing their fourth year, and Severus had begged her to go to McGonagall, or even Dumbledore about it, since Potter was _consistently_ wreaking havoc with it, but she’d rolled her eyes at him and told him that Potter would learn his lesson in time.

And he had, it seemed.

A rushing current of loathing curled around his heart. What was Lily-thing _doing_ with Potter’s cloak? Had he left it to her? Had she had it all this time? No, surely not — this had _Dumbledore_ written all over it.

_Or are you bothered by the fact that Potter has given more to your own child than you ever could?_

Severus stood completely still, hidden by the shadows. He could tell what Lily-thing saw just by looking at her face. It was a dome of multi-colored class, each shade shining clearly, brilliantly on her thin face. Grief and longing so thick that Severus couldn’t have cut through it with a carving knife. Happiness that transcended joy itself, lighting up her dark eyes.

It was when Lily-thing began to weep that Severus sagged against the wall. Every instinct inside of him screamed for him to leave, to get the fuck out of there and leave the girl to mourn, but something else tore at him. Guilt that reverberated inside his chest, building as it crescendoed, knowing that he should try to comfort the girl or get her away from here before whatever devices the Dark Lord had came looking, but Severus could not move.

And somehow, that was worse than leaving or offering the girl some shred of kindness.

He turned when he heard someone move beside him in the shadows.

* * *

How long Ariel sat in front of the Mirror, she did not know, but it felt like something between a few hours and a couple of seconds. She never wanted to leave, never wanted her eyes to leave her Mum’s face.

“It is a wonderfully terrible thing, that Mirror.” said a voice from behind her. Ariel nearly jumped out of her skin in fright, her insides turning to ice. She had forgotten there was a world behind her, that time had continued on just beyond her back.

She whirled around, expecting to see Snape or Filch or even worse — the Giant Smoke Monster — but it was Professor Dumbledore. He was wearing the same robes he’d worn at the feast, a bright holly red, mistletoe stitched onto both sleeves. With the red pointed hat, Dumbledore looked a great deal like Father Christmas.

“I didn’t see you, sir.” Ariel said, her face suddenly very hot, but the rest of her body cold.

“Strange how nearsighted being invisible can make you, isn’t it?” Dumbledore said, a smile stretching across his face from under his beard. He sat down on the floor beside her, crossed legged, just like her. “So, you, like hundreds before you, have discovered the delights of the Mirror of Erised.”

Ariel turned so that she was facing Dumbledore, but could keep her eyes on her Mum and Snape. “I didn’t know it was called that, sir.”

“But I expect that you’ve realized what it does?”

She nodded. “It shows me my parents.”

Dumbledore inclined his head. “That it does, but it does not show every person the same thing. For example, I see myself holding a pair of woolen socks.”

Ariel couldn’t help but giggle at that. Dumbledore smiled again, his blue eyes twinkling down at her.

“So… it shows you what you want?” she guessed.

Dumbledore nodded. “It shows you your heart’s greatest desire. In your case, it is your parents. For myself… well, it is what evades me every Christmas season.”

Ariel smiled, gazing backup at the Mirror. Snape rolled his eyes, while Mum’s face broadened into a smile, one that seemed to echo Ariel’s laughter a moment ago.

“Your father has spent the better half of the year avoiding this room like the plague.”

It took Ariel a minute to register what Dumbledore had said. She could practically hear the exclamation point that appeared above her head flashing and pinging around as she gawked at Dumbledore. He stared back calmly, unfazed, but she could’ve sworn that she saw his lips twitch.

“Y-you — you _know?”_ Ariel squeaked.

“I do,” Dumbledore inclined his head towards her. “though, I must say, I’m quite surprised it took you as long as it did to read that letter.”

She continued to gape at him. “How did you — _how —”_

“I went through your mother’s trunk after Professor Snape took you to Hogwarts.” Dumbledore said gently. “She left memories behind for you and your father.”

“Memories?” Ariel asked, confused. “What do you mean?”

“That is a conversation for another time,” Dumbledore said, gazing up into the Mirror himself. “But your mother and step-father left you behind much more than just a letter and an Invisibility Cloak.”

Ariel followed his eyes. Mirror-Snape stared down at her, like he was watching something interesting and didn’t know where it was headed. Mum pressed her hand against the glass and smiled sadly. Ariel’s heart twisted inside her chest, panging with longing.

She looked down at the cloak in her lap, and then back to the Mirror. There was no James there, from what she could tell, but she wished he was there, too, beside Mum and Snape. Ariel hoped that thought would be enough for him to materialize, but he didn’t.

“I can’t help but feel like I don’t deserve it.” Ariel ran her fingers through the material gingerly. “I don’t see James in the Mirror, and he loved me so much that he died. What does that say about me? I still love him, and Mum says he loved me like I was his own. So why don’t I see him?”

Dumbledore gave her a thoughtful look. “I would think that would be quite obvious. While James was certainly devoted to you, he was not your biological father.”

“Yes, but…” Ariel trailed off, not wanting to say what she really felt out loud, but feeling like she had to. She turned away from Dumbledore, trying to find the words to explain why she felt so _selfish,_ so awful while she stared into the Mirror, while also not wanting to change a thing.

“Professor Snape hates me.” Ariel said, looking at the floor, and wondering if she was the first student to have a dead mother write them a letter to tell them one of their professors was their dad — probably. “I can’t help but think telling him was a huge mistake, and I can’t take it back. Sometimes, I think it would just be better to pretend like James was my dad and forget about Mum’s letter, but I can’t, and I don’t know why.”

Dumbledore was very quiet for a long time. The seconds trickled by, and Ariel found herself staring back at her Mum. She was even more beautiful in-person than in the pictures.

“He does not hate you.” Dumbledore finally said. “Hate is… a word I don’t use quite often. I find it very hard to believe many people find it inside themselves to truly _hate_ someone. Hatred can very quickly turn into something else, something that can lead the very best of us into ruin. You, of all people, have a very good reason to hate — several people, in fact — but do you really harbor those feelings?”

Ariel’s eyes shot up to him. Dumbledore had leaned back, his fingers pressed together, just below his mustache. “Who would I hate, sir?”

Something that looked like affection — or maybe it was just pity — flashed across his face. “Well, one could argue your aunt’s family.”

She considered this. Ariel _did_ hate the Dursleys. She thought a lot about hating them when she’d been at the Burrow. “Yeah, I guess I do.”

“Ah, but do you really?” Dumbledore leaned forward. “Do you wish harm on them? Do you want to see them suffer?”

Ariel thought about Snape ruining Aunt Petunia’s bedroom and kitchen, how the toilet had been in her pristine white bathtub, the fabric of her model home tearing apart at the seams. She daydreamed about Aunt Petunia’s reaction, of her fainting while Dudley screamed bloody murder in the background, and Uncle Vernon clutched at his chest in shock. None of those fantasies ever involved them actually _dying_ or getting _really_ hurt, but Ariel imagined that if she popped off, Aunt Petunia would probably have thrown a parade. Ariel didn’t feel that way, though, she felt… almost indifferent. There was no sadness at the thought of something happening to the Dursleys, but she certainly didn’t _want_ it. Ariel knew what it was like to yearn, to ache for something so badly that it hurt your bones.

“I guess not.” Ariel admitted quietly. “I don’t ever want to see them again, but you’re right. I don’t really hate them. I just hated living with them, because they really hated _me._ I don’t want them hurt, though. I just don’t want to ever see them again.”

Dumbledore opened his mouth, and then closed it, like he’d decided that now wasn’t the right time. He nodded, like she’d answered correctly. Ariel wasn’t sure if there was a right answer, though.

“I would think,” Dumbledore said. “that Professor Snape does not _hate_ you, my dear. Can you think of no other reason why he might have shown any sort of hostility towards you these past few months?”

_Because he doesn’t want you, he wanted Mum_

“It has to do with what happened between him and Mum, I know that.” Ariel said dejectedly. “Maybe he doesn’t hate me, but he doesn’t _like_ me either. I keep thinking if I do something different, maybe it’ll change, but it hasn’t, and I don’t know what else to do.”

Ariel stopped herself, feeling like she was minutes away from rambling. She’d never spoken like this before, not even with Hermione. These were the kinds of things Hermione said she knew with her eyes, but couldn't get Ariel to say herself, out loud. Something about talking with Dumbledore had unlocked a piece of her, like he had known all this and had been waiting for her to say it.

Dumbledore placed a hand on her knee. When she looked up into his face, she could not tell if it was sadness, or pride. It confused her even more, that she could not tell the difference.

“Professor Snape must’ve cared about her something fierce, didn’t he?” Ariel whispered.

Dumbledore placed the Invisibility Cloak into her lap. “There is one thing I know about your father, Ariel, and that is that he is without a doubt the fiercest man I have ever known, in everything he sets his mind to.”

Her lip wobbled, and Ariel hated herself for it. Crying wasn’t going to do a damn thing. All Ariel had done was cry, and nothing had been solved, nothing for her mum, for Snape, or this stupid bloody _Stone_ that they had to find —

“You must understand, Ariel, that Professor Snape is an incredibly private man.” Dumbledore continued quietly.

“I know,” Ariel said quietly. “I just wish I could see what Mum did.”

Dumbledore gave her arm a comforting squeeze, and then he rose. “I’m sure you will in time, my dear girl. In the meantime, I must ask that you do not look for the Mirror again. Men have wasted away in front of it. It does not bode well for you, should you seek it out again.”

She nodded, knowing exactly what he meant. She would have faded away to nothing in front of the Mirror, and been content with that. It would have been enough for her, she didn’t need anymore than what was inches away.

“Professor?” Ariel asked quietly. “May I ask you something?”

“You already have,” Dumbledore smiled, his eyes twinkling like fairy lights. “but you may ask me one more thing.”

“You said Professor Snape doesn’t want to come in here.” Ariel hesitated, choosing her words carefully. “What do you think he would see, if he were to look into the Mirror? Would he see the same thing I do?”

Mum looked to Mirror-Snape, who’s gaze hardened, like he couldn’t comprehend what Ariel was saying. Dumbledore’s face followed hers, as if he saw Mirror-Snape, too, and was about to ask him a question. He was silent for a very long time, though. So long, in fact, that after a while, Ariel forgot about her question and began to stare back into the Mirror again.

“Whatever he would see,” Dumbledore finally said. “I would think it would make him realize that what he desires is not unattainable.”

Ariel wanted to ask him what that meant, but he was already leaving. She sighed, staring up at Mum, who shook her head, as if she was just as confused. Mirror-Snape glared at Dumbledore’s back.

She wrapped the Cloak around her shoulders, and began to think.

* * *

Something behind Severus’ eyes began to unravel, faster than a spool of yarn. He could feel his blood pumping in his eyes, roaring like a forest fire. There was an insatiable need to move, to leave or reveal himself, but he couldn’t make himself go forward. He wanted to pry the girl from the Mirror and rip away the pain shining from it. It would have been bearable, had she not said what she had to Dumbledore.

The old man left, leaving the girl alone once more. She sat in front of the Mirror a while longer before she moved. Miss Evans stood, pressing her palm to her mouth, and then back to the glass. “I can’t come back, I’m sorry.”

Her voice cracked on every syllable, and Severus closed his eyes. He could not watch her leave.

_Coward_

Once Miss Evans passed over the threshold, Severus felt everything inside of him let go. He was left with a feeling of being utterly hollow. If a breeze blew past him, he was quite certain he would have keeled over right then and there.

The Mirror was waiting for him. Severus braced himself, his Shields stuttering back into place as he readied himself for her face, for her gaze, but it did not come.

He stared at himself in the Mirror, baffled. No one appeared. And then —

He lifted up his sleeve, his skin translucent in the mirror’s reflection. There was no scar, no faded skull etched into his skin. Even though it was barely visible in reality, as it had been since the Dark Lord had fallen, the Mirror gleamed back at him, the skin almost sparkling in comparison.

Severus stared into the Mirror, stared at his arm, wishing he could see straight through to the marrow.

When he tore his eyes away, he could have swore he saw a flash of red.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: There is also some canon dialogue scattered throughout here, most of it during the conversation between Ariel and Dumbledore. 
> 
> I know there wasn’t a whole lot of Snape-Ariel interaction this chapter, but alas, I can’t force them to have a conversation every time. Maybe they’ll cooperate for the next one. 
> 
> Review are always appreciated (please, lol) <3 
> 
> Until next time, dear readers! 


	15. these ties that bind

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Previously: After gazing into the Mirror, Snape and Ariel have to answer some very hard questions about themselves, and what they truly want. Voldemort, however, is growing impatient, and the longer he lingers, the more his power, and his hold on Ariel, grows... 
> 
> A/N: If you could leave a review, it would be massively appreciated! x

Severus penned a single note.

_You are relieved of your detentions for the remainder of holiday. Do not leave your dormitory after curfew again, if you do not wish to suffer a far worse punishment._

_Professor S.S._

He set down the quill and stared down at the parchment. There hadn’t been a visit from the darkness in weeks. The girl would be fine, Severus would keep an eye on her. It’s not like he had classes of moronic children to teach for the next week and a half, but he would not put himself in a position where they were forced to interact. He couldn’t handle that, after tonight.

He continued to study the paper. It should have been gone already, sent without a second thought, but there it sat, the words waiting to be dismissed from view.

Severus… did not want to send it.

This realization was a crushing blow to Severus’ ego, like he’d taken a Stunner to the chest. He had tried so hard not to care, not to let the girl through his walls, and somehow, she had. Maybe it was genetic, a biological weapon Severus had never seen coming. Maybe resistance was futile. Miss Evans was a part of him, and he was a part of her, no matter how hard Severus tried to deny it. And… it _was_ almost impossible to ignore the nagging voice that told him not to send this note to her.

Severus buried his face in his hands. This had to be the lingering effects of the Mirror. Miss Evans had, as she always did, taken Severus completely off guard.

He stared at the note, and then, with a flippant flick of his wrist, sent it. The girl would see it when she woke, and she would not understand. It was best this way. Miss Evans could see no more than she already had, and in order to keep this… _thing_ from festering any more, Severus needed a few days to collect himself.

“She will be fine,” Severus muttered into his hands. “she’ll be safe.”

The emptiness of his quarters echoed his words around him, over and over again, until morning came.

* * *

_Tell me_

She knew that voice, cold and high —

_Tell me what it says_

It was looking for her, but it already knew where she was, it just needed a way in.

_The wanderer weary_

She stood with her back turned, hair cascading down her back.

_Tell me what you know_

The woman turned from the mirror, and suddenly, all there was was a bright, green light —

_Full of fear_

Ariel awoke, her body tangled in the sheets. The only sound in the room was her panting, her hair sticky against her clammy forehead. She threw her legs over the side of the bed, trying to steady her breathing. It was still dark outside, and Ariel wished more than ever that Hermione was here. She would’ve shaken her awake and told her what she’d seen, what she’d heard, and Hermione would’ve scooched over in her own bed and let Ariel sleep beside her.

But Hermione wasn’t here. Even Lavender or Parvati snoring away would’ve been comforting, because it would’ve meant that Ariel wasn’t alone, peeking into the dark corners of the room and praying that the Giant Smoke Monster wasn’t climbing it’s way towards her.

Her scar burned, though. It felt like it was going to crack open like an egg, when she’d woken up.

She reached over to her bedside table, fumbling for Snape’s coin, when her hands found a folded note instead. It had her name on the front, in Snape’s handwriting. Her excitement quickly dissipated, though, after she read it. Ariel had known it was coming, in one form or another. Snape had known she’d snuck out after curfew and sent him on a _very_ long game of cat and mouse.

It hurt more than it should have, to be written off, but Ariel recalled his face staring into the Mirror, how his emotionless mask had cracked right down the middle for a moment. It had hurt to look at it, because…

The only thing Snape could ever want was the one thing he couldn’t have.

She crushed the note in her fist.

* * *

“An _Invisibility Cloak,”_ Severus said, letting his voice convey every inch of his displeasure. “You gave the girl an _Invisibility Cloak.”_

Dumbledore gazed up at him with a meekness Severus didn’t believe for one second. “Well, given the circumstances my boy, I would have hoped it would put your mind at ease.”

Severus bit out a snarl, fists balling at his sides as he paced the length of Dumbledore’s desk. Back and forth, back and forth, his boots slamming against the stone as Dumbledore watched him, a curious twinkle in his blue eyes.

“Where the hell did you even get it?” he bit out, a taste in his mouth like metal. “Don’t tell me it was in that damn trunk at Petunia’s all this time.”

“James left it with me just before he and Lily went into hiding. There were extenuating circumstances within the order that facilitated a need for it.”

“And you’ve decided to give it to Lily’s daughter.” Severus said flatly. “How _touching.”_

“I will admit that I was quite disturbed when you imparted Ariel’s recent _visitations_ to me.” Dumbledore said heavily. “Whatever Tom is up to, if she needs cover, the Invisibility Cloak will grant it to her. She’ll be hidden from whatever agent he is using.”

Severus felt like a caged animal, trapped, desperate, panicked, and the feeling was growing steadily, not giving any signs of letting up. He hadn’t been able to sleep, his dreams haunted by the girl’s terrified expression, his nose pressed up to the glass of that miserable fucking Mirror. He thought of the hunger in her thin face, and wondered if Lily had stared back at her similarly. There was a small tug in the back of his mind, one that delighted in the fact that Miss Evans had not seen _Potter,_ but he and Lily.

It had kept Seveus awake, envious that he could not see what Miss Evans had, but equally horrified by it. It was a dangerous thought, a deadly dream. He supposed that was why Dumbledore had chosen to reveal himself that night. If Miss Evans had gone back to the Mirror again and again…

Dumbledore’s intervention at the Mirror had been an act of mercy, and this made Severus angrier.

“Potter would be turning in his grave, if he knew that Miss Evans had that Cloak.” Severus muttered bitterly. “It was not yours to give.”

Dumbledore blinked up at him, as though he’d been taken by surprise. “On the contrary, James left Ariel the Cloak specifically in his will.”

Of fucking course he had, Saint Potter providing _Severus’_ child with protection and galleons and love that Severus had never been afforded to give the girl herself.

_Not until now,_ whispered Conscience. _Why do_ you _care so much?_

“I don’t want her having it,” Severus bit out. “she’ll be up to no good in no time. How do you expect me to protect her if we can’t _see_ her?”

“Surely a bit of childish curiosity never hurt anyone.” Dumbledore gave him a pointed look. “You mean to tell me _you_ never left the Slytherin dormitories after dark?”

“That is not the point!” Severus snapped. “Miss Evans is being _hunted_ by something we cannot see, and if something were to happen and we can’t _find_ her —”

He broke off, his breathing labored. Every time he thought of it, his heart burned inside his chest, like he was standing at the edge of a steep cliff, wondering when the next bout of wind would knock him clean off. Terrifying, most of all, was that Severus knew what this was. It had hounded him day and night when Lily had been in hiding, the heart-stopping fear that he would awaken one day only to find that she was —

“I would not have given her the Cloak if I did not think Ariel would use it responsibly.” Dumbledore said gently.

Severus gave a humorless snort. “Is that where your little speech stemmed from last night? Your irrevocable _trust_ in the girl?”

He gave him a long, searching look. “I was quite moved by her words, were you not?”

_mummy_

_professor snape hates me_

_he loved her something fierce_

The pit in his stomach grew, threatening to swallow Severus whole. He forced it down — down down down — until there was nothing left but emptiness, nothing but his Shields holding him up.

“She is young,” Severus grimaced, the words hurting on the way out. “she doesn’t know what she wants. She doesn’t _understand_ the situation she’s in, that _I_ am _required_ to be in. Or have my spying duties escaped your brilliant mind?”

Dumbledore folded his hands together, like he was about to listen to a long story he’d heard countless times before. “Have you decided how to move forward, then? Do your objections to the situation stem from a place of parental concern? Or duty? One could argue they are one and the same.”

Severus had — and hadn’t. It had been all he’d been thinking that night. Miss Evans had successfully wormed her way into his thoughts, waking and unconscious. The girl hadn’t given him so much as a passing glance since he’d canceled their detentions, spending all of her time with Weasley-twerp until Know-it-All returned from holiday. It stung him more than he cared to admit, but it would pass. Time healed all wounds.

_(most wounds)_

He had to be rid of her, if Miss Evans was going to survive whatever was coming. Severus had been keeping an eye on her, shrouded in shadows and Disillusionment spells. She’d taken to sulking, Weasley-twerp’s annoying suggestions of entertainment only yielding the smallest smiles and head nods. It enraged him, to know that a few days lacking his presence had this effect. There was obviously something seriously wrong with the girl.

“I can’t look after her in the way she thinks I should.” Severus said, his voice void of any emotion. “It’s not _realistic,_ Albus, surely you must know that. Even if I were to wash my hands of my place in the Dark Lord’s ranks, I am not fit to be any sort of guardian to a child.”

He thought of his own father, for the first time in many years. Rarely seen, but often heard had been all that Severus could gather from Tobias’ example. He’d barely given Severus a passing glance most days, his early mornings and nights spent down at the pub. Severus knew he was home when he heard him shouting. His mother had revelled in setting him off. The man hadn’t had a nurturing bone in his body, and children needed such things.

Not to mention that Severus _hated_ the little dunderheads — but Miss Evans was not like the rest of the students. She was stubborn and passionate and annoyingly persistent in her endeavors, but there was unmistakable care in everything she did. Severus saw it when she’d brewed with him. Miss Evans looked at Potions with a reverence, an understanding that armed with the proper ingredients, the possibilities were endless. That had been what lured Severus in, until darker magic had tickled his fancy, opening up an even broader world of understanding, of opportunities, of _power._

“Have I ever told you what I believe to be the moment Tom truly became Lord Voldemort?”

Severus screeched to a halt, his boots almost leaving skid marks. His eyes narrowed warily. Dumbledore offered up information about the Founders, old acquaintances, and past Headmasters like it was candy. Anything personal, or about the Dark Lord, however, was about as easy to wrangle out of him as getting Minerva to concede a Quidditch match.

“You haven’t,” Severus said slowly.

“Ah, well,” Dumbledore’s eyes dimmed, like they had taken a dive below the surface of a wave. “You see, Tom is not a Pureblood, as you’re well aware. His father, and his father’s family, were Muggles.”

“What does this —”

“As an orphan, I would imagine that every child’s personality is piqued about who their parents are,” Dumbledore held up a patient hand, continuing on. “As Tom was. He found his father while he was still at Hogwarts, you see. Even then, I had sensed that there was something… _wrong_ with the boy, but I never suspected he could… well, given the circumstances, I suppose it was the perfect storm. When Tom revealed himself to his father and grandparents, they rejected him outright, and Tom responded by massacring the entire family, right then and there.”

Severus stared, and stared, and stared.

“You think the girl is… capable of that?” he said slowly, the words sounding ridiculous out loud.

Dumbledore looked startled. “Goodness, no! I only meant that rejection leads to resentment, my dear boy. You have the opportunity to raise Ariel, and she will only be stronger for it, I would imagine.”

His heart began to thrum away to an entirely new level of panic. “She wouldn’t, I cannot _possibly —”_

“Clearly Ariel has seen something in you worthy of her affections.” Dumbledore said gently, soothingly. “You have let her see parts of you no one else has.”

“That was not my choice!” Severus spat, but there was a great desperation growing. _Get it away shut it up hide them hide them all —_

“In every single action you take, you are making a choice.” said Dumbledore. “You made a choice to see Lily a little over a decade ago, and you made a choice to rid yourself of that rendezvous. You made a choice to watch the girl every evening, to ensure that she is safe. Surely there were other avenues you could have taken, but you chose to watch her yourself.”

“Because there is something _after_ her —” Why did no one see this besides him? Why did no one else care about what happened to that foolhardy child?

“There is no shame in admitting that you have formed an attachment to the girl,” Dumbledore said, not unkindly. “but you must pave your way so that she may do the same. Otherwise, there will be nothing but turmoil for Ariel to work through, and she will have enough trials and tribulations in the years ahead. Your choices now are intertwined with her upbringing, whether you like it or not.”

Severus wanted to smash something, but he was too tired. He had been for a long time. Perhaps he had gone soft, but he couldn’t afford to think about that right now, because even though it was complete and utter insanity, Dumbledore was… right.

Lily had made a choice in telling Severus through her letter. Lily had chosen to entrust the girl with him, despite his past atrocities. Was she going to age with grace? Was Miss Evans going to age without mistakes? Lily would never know, she had not been afforded the privilege of watching their daughter grow up, but she would have wanted Severus to. She would have made him promise, on pain of death. After all, wasn’t this all for what Lily would have wanted?

When Severus looked back to Dumbledore, he had his answer.

* * *

Ariel had never been so happy to see someone in her entire life, the day that Hermione arrived back from Christmas holiday.

She was flush and breathless as she caught sight of Ariel and Ron, waiting for her excitedly by the Great Hall. She practically ran them over as she hurried towards them, her cheeks flushed and eyes bright. Before Ariel couldn’t even get a greeting out, Hermione was talking at them a mile a minute, waving excitedly with her hands.

Something that sounded like one long sentence strung together came tumbling out of her mouth. Ariel looked at Ron, who looked back at her, before staring at Hermione.

“English, please,” said Ron.

“I — _know —_ who — Flamel — is.” Hermione wheezed. “I figured — it out — this morning.”

Ariel thought her face might split open from how hard she was smiling. “You’re absolutely brilliant, Hermione Granger, do you know that?” 

“It was — _phew —_ because of your gift!” Hermione rested her hands on her knees, still trying to catch her breath. “He was on the back of one of the chocolate frog cards!”

Ariel was hit with a strange sense of déjàvu, like she’d had this conversation before. She racked her brain, trying to remember what was so familiar about all this, when it clicked.

Ariel’s eyebrows hit her forehead. “Wait — I knew that! That’s where I knew the name from, from the Hogwarts Express, when we bought candy off the trolly!”

“Well, bloody hell, what’re we standing around here for?” Ron demanded. “Tell us what you found!”

“Not here,” Hermione scanned the entrance quickly — the Slytherins were making their way inside, to Ariel’s great disappointment. She would’ve hoped that Malfoy and Pansy would’ve gotten trapped inside their fireplaces, or exploded from eating too much Christmas dinner, or some other horrible fate.

“Library?” Ariel guessed, and Hermione nodded eagerly, linking her hand in Ariel’s as she pulled her along, Ron on their heels.

Madam Pince gave the three of them a particularly nasty glare as they entered, but didn’t object as they hurried inside. There was no one there, since almost all of the students were returning from holiday now, but Ron made them choose a table at the very back of the library, where nobody could hear them, just in case.

“I couldn’t believe it, when I saw his name.” Hermione said, as they scrambled into chairs. “It was sitting in front of us the whole time, and we never put two and two together.”

Ariel leaned forward eagerly in her chair. “Well, don’t keep us waiting.”

Hermione reached into her cloak and pulled out a piece of parchment. The edges were torn, but the words were typed, which meant that she’d found in a book (surprise, surprise). Ariel quickly tried to remember just how many books Hermione had taken home over break — it was somewhere around a dozen, she recalled.

“You ripped that out of a _book?”_ Ron’s eyes tripled in size. “Who _are_ you and what have you done with Hermione Granger?”

“Oh, hush.” Hermione shot back. “That book was as heavy as me, and I wasn’t going to lug it all the way down here before I unpacked.”

“You could’ve used a Shrinking Spell, you numpty.”

“We haven’t _learned_ Shrinking Spells yet, you prat!” Hermione said, an angry blush rising to her cheeks.

Ariel didn’t think she could take much of their arguing with the answer hanging over them. She grabbed the page from Hermione’s hands, scanning it with laser-beam precision.

_“‘The ancient study of alchemy is concerned with making the Philosopher’s Stone, a legendary substance with astonishing powers.’”_ she read aloud. _“‘The Stone will transform any metal into pure gold. It also produces the Elixir of Life, which will make the drink immortal. There have been many reports of the Philosopher’s Stone over the centuries, but the only Stone currently in existence belongs to Mr Nicolas Flamel, who celebrated his six hundred and sixty-fifth birthday last year.’_ So… whoever wants that Stone is trying to become immortal?” Ariel’s eyebrows knitted together.

“It has _other_ properties too,” Hermione admitted. “great healing powers, transformative abilities.”

“Yeah, but who needs all that if you can live forever?” Ron interjected. “I’m with Ariel, I’d say immortality is _much_ more likely.”

“Who here wants to live forever, though?” Ariel asked, more confused than ever. “I mean, I guess the answer is anyone, but if it’s being kept here, it’s to keep it safe. Who wants it so badly that Professor Dumbledore would try _this_ much to make sure it stays out of their hands?”

“I don’t know,” Hermione took the parchment from Ariel’s hands. “I tried the entire train ride back to come up with a list, but I couldn’t think of anyone. It couldn’t be a student, but none of the staff would be here if Professor Dumbledore didn’t trust them.”

“Well,” Ron said darkly. “there is _one_ greasy git who might want to get his claws on it.”

Hermione shot Ron a horrible glare, smacking his arm.

“I already told you, it’s not Snape.” Ariel sighed, sick and tired of this argument. If Ariel didn’t know what she did about Snape, she supposed she would’ve suspected him, too. 

“Yeah?” Ron scowled, falling back in his seat. “Then why’s he had you in detention all these months, huh? We could’ve been looking for more information about the Stone and Flamel, but he had you scrubbing cauldrons. Don’t you think it’s a _little_ suspicious? Maybe he caught on that we _know_ something, and he’s trying to stop us from finding out more!”

“Ronald, if that were true, Professor Snape has had loads of time to steal the Stone.” Hermione bit her lip, her face set in determination, but her eyes told Ariel a different story. “He saved Ariel at the Quidditch match, and he’s her —”

“It’s _not_ Snape,” Ariel said in a steely voice. “Besides, I haven’t had a detention with him in days. If he was up to something, it would’ve happened already. It’s _not_ him.”

_“Fine,”_ Ron grumbled. “I’m not saying we should write him off, but he’s the only bloke who fits the bill. So who _else_ could it be?”

Little flecks of rage dug into Ariel’s mind, but she quickly shoved it far away from her. “I don’t know.” she said, feeling frustrated. “Even knowing who Flamel is and what the Stone does, it doesn’t make sense of all the weird stuff that’s been happening. I mean, the troll and the Bludger were one thing, but the Smoke Monster…”

“Have you seen it at all?” Ron looked extremely worried all of a sudden.

Ariel hesitated. “Not for a while, no, but I’ve been having dreams about it.”

Hermione and Ron exchanged a concerned look.

“What?” Ariel frowned. “What is it?”

“You're _dreaming_ about it?” Ron scratched away at the table, not meeting her eyes. “You haven’t mentioned that, mate.”

“It hasn’t come up!” Ariel shot back defensively. “And I can’t very much help it!”

“I know that!” he held up his hands. “All I mean is… is it getting worse?”

She thought about it, scrunching her nose as she searched through the Giant Smoke Monster category inside her brain. It hadn’t spoken to her, except in dreams, and it hadn’t hounded her like it had the day that Bludger had gone completely mental. That was around the same time Ariel had started dreaming about the woman in the mirror. She realized, with a jolt, that maybe it was her mum in the Mirror of Erised she’d been thinking of this whole time, but she couldn’t see the dream lady’s face, so Ariel couldn’t be sure. The Giant Smoke Monster dreams, however, _had_ gotten… more frequent. She hadn’t thought about how bad they were until Ron had asked.

“I can’t tell,” Ariel shook her head. “It’s maddening, too, because I think I _know_ whose voice it is, I just can’t remember. The green light always comes and ends it.”

Hermione’s face did something strange, then. It seemed to shudder, like she’d be restarted, like Dudley’s Muggle computer, after he’d tried to force quit one of his games and broken the stupid thing for the hundreth time. Her eyes narrowed in concentration down at the tabletop, where Ron was still scratching away.

Ariel almost didn’t want to ask what she was thinking. “What? What is it?”

“Well,” Hermione swallowed, her eyes flitting to Ron. “if you think about it, there _is_ someone who would want the Stone… more than anyone, I would imagine. And they’d have even more of a reason to be following you.”

Ariel shot Ron a puzzled look, who looked equally as confused.

“Does your scar hurt?” Hermione asked, her brown eyes serious. “When you wake up? You said it’s hurt in the past, when you’ve seen that — _thing_ during the day.”

“Yes, but —” Ariel broke off when she saw Ron’s face go blank, like he’d had a similar realization. Neither of them said anything, sharing stolen glances between each other, and Ariel’s felt her patience beginning to wane. _“What?”_ she asked, trying to filter out the desperation in her voice. “Snape already keeps enough from me — not you, too!”

Both their heads shot up in shock, Hermione’s eyes widening in hurt. “I’m not trying to! Do you really not see it?”

Before Ariel could even stop to think about it, Ron leaned across the table and said: “Mate, what if it’s You-Know-Who?”

Ariel felt like she’d be launched over the side of a waterfall. “What?”

“Think about it,” Hermione said slowly. “You-Know-Who can’t get into the school, right? So maybe… maybe someone is trying to steal the Stone for _him,_ and You-Know-Who is… somehow trying to find you, too.”

“Everyone says he’s not really dead,” Ron shivered. “Maybe it’s true, after all. They never found a body, from what Bill’s told me. He could kill two birds with one stone… no pun intended.”

“Ron!” Hermione snapped.

_tell me_

_a feeling in her teeth like scissors_

_cold, high voice melting into laugher that went on and on and on_

_your mother and father gave their lives for you_

_every day I am reminded that she is gone_

Ariel leapt up from the table, knocking over her char. “This is ridiculous. Voldemort isn’t in the school, and he’s not in my dreams! It’s _got_ to be someone else!”

Her feet carried her away from Hermione and Ron without Ariel having to think much about it. Something had clicked off in her brain — something that shone like the green light in her dreams, tapped away like nails on a windowpane. Her hands shook at her sides.

“Ariel, wait, I didn’t mean to upset you!” Hermione caught up with her quickly, her face apologetic. “I only meant —”

She wasn’t listening. Something was coming, something she couldn’t see yet, but she could sense it, like the tingling in her belly before casting a spell, the cadence between cracks of thunder. Ron and Hermione’s voices echoed in her ears, but Ariel didn’t hear them. She needed to get away from them, keep them safe, because if the Giant Smoke Monster _was_ working for Voldemort, or even worse…

The din of the Great Hall brought Ariel back to her senses. The bright lights and warmth, the feeling of being surrounded by other people. She let out the breath she hadn’t known she’d been holding in, feeling more like herself.

Hermione’s hands clutched at hers. When Ariel turned, she looked like she was on the brink of tears. She immediately felt horrible, not understanding why she’d yelled at them and run away. It was all incredibly disorienting, until —

“Look, boys,” said The Last Person Ariel Wanted to See. “looks like Red Cap over here finally decided to do something about her hair.”

He was talking about the headband — Ariel had nearly forgotten that she’d had it on.

“Shove it, Malfoy.” Ariel threw over her shoulder, tugging Hermione along. She rarely gave him the time of day when she wasn’t messing with him, and this only seemed to make him angrier.

“What’s wrong?” Malfoy’s smirk stretched into a mocking grin. “Didn’t you enjoy being here, all alone with the Weasel? Or did you miss those stupid Muggles that clearly don’t want you back?”

“I’d take eternal solitude over having to listen to _you_ for another second.” she snapped back.

“You know what I think?” Malfoy leered. “I think the Sorting Hat chooses a whole lot of nobodies for Gryffindor. Look at you lot — Evans has no parents, Weasley has no money, and Granger has no reason being here at all!”

“Ignore him!” Hermione hissed in her ear, but something else was whispering too, and it was getting louder.

“Funny,” Ariel rounded on her heel. “I didn’t know you _could_ think at all. I can hear the echo bouncing around from inside your skull, most days.”

“Look at that, I think I’ve finally hit a nerve!” Malfoy closed the gap between them. “Princess _Evans_ has finally graced us with a conversation! I guess supposedly defeating You-Know-Who doesn’t carry as much weight as you thought it did, does it, Evans? You’ve still got nobody.”

“She’s got _us,”_ Hermione said shrilly. “don’t you have somewhere better to be, Malfoy?”

“I wasn’t talking to _you,_ Granger.” Malfoy said cooly. _“_ You know what, Evans? I think all this You-Know-Who business is hogwash. Your parents probably went and blew themselves up to get away from _you,_ if your Muggle family is any indication.”

Ron began shouting something angrily at Malfoy, a group of older Gryffindors quickly coming over to see what all the commotion was.

Something moved before Malfoy, rising from the floor, like it had always been there.

There it was, bigger than Ariel remembered. Part of her, a distant, forgotten piece of her was alarmed by this, but it didn’t matter. The sounds of chatter faded, like they’d be sucked into a void, the colors falling off the walls and beneath the floor like watercolors. There was a silent breeze tussling her hair across Ariel’s face as she stared up at it.

_Do it,_ It said.

And then Ariel lunged, and decked Malfoy right between the eyes.

She didn’t know how she ended up on top of him, only that she must’ve hit him hard enough that he’d fallen like a ton of bricks, and that she couldn’t stop. The world got darker and darker, until Ariel couldn’t see anything at all, only feeling her hands colliding with Malfoy’s face over and over. She was distantly aware of hands on her shoulders, her legs, her back, her arms, trying to pry her off, but it was like she couldn’t let go, even if she wanted to.

For the briefest of moments, Ariel looked up at the darkness, looked right at it, and it spoke once more.

_Tell me what it said._

And just like that, she was back, the colors and sounds slamming into her like a freight train, the darkness lingered. She could hear a hum in the air around her — not the hum of magic, the song in her bones and blood — but the steady drone of a voice, of a moan, of a yearning so deep it shook the floor.

Ariel stared down at her hands, blood smeared across the knuckles. Ron pulled her away, hiding Malfoy from view, while Crabbe and Goyle helped him up.

“She’s mental!” Malfoy wailed. “I didn’t even draw my wand!”

Ariel ran.

The next thing she knew, she was in an alcove. After a moment of trying to catch her breath, she realized that it was the same alcove that she and Hermione had read Mum’s letter in. There was leftover wax from the candles in the corner, and what looked like a burnt photograph in front of her feet. Ariel couldn’t remember how she’d gotten here, or if anyone had followed her, or what had happened to Malfoy, but before Ariel could turn, she heard someone.

There was a hand on her shoulder She jolted, like someone had turned her spine into a broomstick, but she quickly relaxed when she heard a silky voice say. “Be still — it’s me.”

Ariel hadn’t so much as looked at Snape since the Mirror, since he’d sent that stupid note. She’d known she deserved it for breaking his trust, but it had hurt nonetheless, even if it wasn’t permanent.

“What’re you doing here?” Ariel croaked.

“Miss Granger came and found me,” Snape's voice rumbled from behind her. Ariel could feel it all the way down to her toes. “what happened?”

She really and truly did not know. It hadn’t felt like her back there, punching Malfoy over and over again. It had felt _good,_ but not in the way she would’ve expected. Now that it was over, all Ariel felt was empty — empty and scared and alone.

Ariel examined her bloody knuckles. They would likely bruise. “I don’t know, once I started, I couldn’t stop.”

“You saw something,” Snape’s eyes burned into hers. “It’s returned, hasn’t it?”

His hand lingered, a comforting weight against her. It tightened as Ariel’s breathing quickened, desperately trying to slow down her heartbeat. She wondered if Snape could hear it.

“It’s been in my dreams,” Ariel whispered. “it won’t leave me alone.”

Snape was silent for a long moment, but Ariel could feel the air curdling behind her. “Why didn’t you _tell me?”_

“You told me to stay away —”

“I did no such thing!”

“You said enough!” Ariel shouted at him, ripping free of his grasp. She turned on her heel, all of her anger, her hurt, her _guilt_ funneling themselves into this great and terrible thing inside of her, needing out out OUT.

Snape’s nostrils flared. “Watch yourself, girl.”

“Watch _what?”_ she threw up at him, watching it smack him in the face. “All I _do_ is watch! I probably get it from _you,_ since that’s _your_ specialty.”

He glowered down at her, his eyes flashing in warning, like a coin at the bottom of a pond. “I am only trying to understand what happened. I am not your enemy, Miss Evans.”

“Why?” her voice faltered. “Why do you bother if you want nothing to do with me?”

Snape said nothing. His face was inscrutable, the torchlight the only part of his features that moved.

“You were there that night, weren’t you?” Ariel demanded, looking him right in the eye, black against black. “You knew I was out of bed, and you _saw_ me in front of the Mirror, heard what I said about it, and you haven’t said anything to me. _Why?”_

For a moment, Snape seemed completely baffled. He did not wear the look well at all. “What in Merlin’s name does this have to do with —”

“You only care about me,” she swallowed roughly, her throat throbbing in time with her manic heartbeat. “when I’m in danger. That’s it. Anything else… you don’t care what I do or what happens.”

Snape said nothing. A breeze whipped through the two of them from the alcove window, his robes the only part of him that moved.

“Well?” his silence made her angrier, and she shot forward, shoving him away with all her might. “Go! Go give points to Malfoy for getting a rise out of me! I don’t care!”

Trying to move Snape was about as easy as trying to move one of the stone pillars, and being the tiniest student in school certainly didn’t help. Still, Ariel threw her hands out in front of her over and over again, wanting to run and never stop, to feel the stone slap beneath her feet until she was far away.

After a minute or so of throwing herself at Snape, his arm shot out and caught hers. It didn’t hurt, but he held enough of a grip that it made her chest stutter, the timpani of her heart skipping time. His face rippled, like a body moving behind a curtain. Ariel looked up into his face, and suddenly Dumbledore’s words echoed in her ears, from a distant and secret place.

_he is without a doubt the fiercest man I have ever known, in everything he sets his mind to_

And then Snape pulled Ariel to him, her nose smashing against his hip. His arm was like a vise around her shoulders. It took a second or two for the shock to wear off, but as it did, a warmth enveloped her, a feeling like starlight bubbling up inside her.

Ariel turned, and buried his face against his side as tears sprang into her eyes. She felt Snape stiffen, but he did not push her away. It wasn’t comfortable, but she would’ve stayed there forever, and it would’ve been enough.

And for right then and there, it was.

It was enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Surprised to see a chapter? Me too! I don’t know where this came from, but I wrote it yesterday and wrapped it up earlier today, and figured “why not?” 
> 
> I posted this on my Tumblr, but I haven’t been getting much of a response lately, so if that happens with this chapter, I’ve decided not to post until June, when schools let out, and I have time to sit and write. I do try and write 1,000 words a day, but when there’s little to no response, it makes this more tedious, and I love this story, and don’t want it to become a chore. 
> 
> Stay safe, and until next time! x 


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